Streets I Know
by District11-Olive
Summary: "For the sole reason that each year a strong teenager will leave the arena, and that means that each year there is work to be done. Every child that leaves the arena must be able to be controlled" Welcome to the 90th Hunger Games!
1. There Part One

**Meet You There by Simple Plan**

_I'll meet you there,  
No matter where life takes me to_

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**Coryn DuPont, Capitol- Victor of the 89****th**** Hunger Games**

"Each day it seems you become even more stunning, my dear."

The voice makes shivers run down my spine and my skin goes frigid despite the comfortable temperature of the room. I feel an icy fingertip lace the sensitive skin of my ear as he tucks a strand of raven-black hair behind it. No matter the many months it has been I still do not find any familiarity or comfort in his frozen touch. All I find is coldness; coldness and maybe the tiniest ounce of fear.

"Thank you, sir," I say obediently and his lips curl up into a tight grin.

"How many times have I asked, call me Cyrus," he chuckles, placing one hand on my shoulder and squeezing it lightly. "Do you not think we are past all of these formalities, Coryn?"

"Yes of course, Cyrus, please forgive me."

"Such a polite girl, and pretty as well," he hums, moving his hand down to lightly caress my knee as he takes a seat in the chair across from me. "I've never been more glad of a tribute leaving that arena."

The venom in his voice is evident even to me. I have come to the understanding that despite his role in bringing the Hunger Games back he hates them. For the sole reason that each year a strong teenager will leave the arena, and that means that each year there is work to be done. Every child that leaves the arena must be able to be controlled. That has become his duty to ensure.

"You know, it has occurred to me that perhaps the many of you are not happy when you return," he hisses into my ear but I do not turn to face him. There is no part of me that wishes to see any part of him, not after what he has taken from me. Not only my morality and my free-will, no he couldn't stop at that. He took my freedom, my voice, my heart, mind, and strength. He has taken things from me that I have never told anyone of. Through his cold fingertips and endless power, he has made me his pet. And that I have no choice in.

"What can I do to make you happy, Coryn?"

This time I do turn, I do let him see the blankness that has taken over my eyes. Where my soul once lay, in answer to his question this is all he will have, a look at the girl he has taken from me.

"Is that what you want? I can give you any request. I want you to be happy. I want my beautiful Victor to be happy."

The sincerity in his voice is like poison to me. As if it might really be possible for him to think that one simple gift could make me happy after all of this. For some odd reason though, I feel a stupid sense of hope. Hope that maybe I could learn to forget, that maybe someday it might even be possible for me to be happy in this place. It's no use to even think that it might work out, though, because I know the only thing that could ever make me happy would be the ability to go back to before my name was called at the Reaping and make the Escort have picked someone else.

"I don't want anything from you," I try to say with all the strength still in me but my voice gives me away. He knows I am scared of him, and that is the very reason why I have come to despise him.

"Nothing?" he chuckles, choosing to ignore the stammer in my voice. "I find that difficult to believe, my dear."

"Unless you can bring my old life back, there is nothing else I want."

"I could give you wonders, Coryn," he whispers as his breath puffs in my face with a mixture of smoke and alcohol odour. "If only you would let me."

"I just want to go back home, to my home before this. There is nothing here I want," I say, my voice wavering with emotion so raw that I can trace it back to the feelings I had when the news of my family's deaths managed to reach me. "I don't want the luxury of your mansion; I just want the streets I know."

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**As promised this is a special shout out to Jake for typing up this chapter for me as I sent him blurry pictures from my notebook where it was written :D**

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**This is an SYOT for the 90****th**** Hunger Games, the form is located on my profile along with the list of open/filled spots Please ensure that the space you are submitting for is open **_**before**_** you submit!**

**The form ****must ****be submitted through PM only! Title your PM as "SIK Tribute" please.**

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**This is an extension of canon that I have created in which President Cyrus has taken over and reinstated the Hunger Games after the death of President Paylor. I would advise you to read the prologue for **_**Written In Ice**_** before submitting your tribute but in case you are still confused, here is the rundown.**

**- This is the 90****th**** Hunger Games**

**- District Twelve has been destroyed, so they nor District Thirteen will have tributes in the Hunger Games**

**- Due to acts of Rebellion in the Capitol, the Capitol will now also send in two tributes to the Hunger Games**

**- All previous rules regarding age, industry, etc are back in place.**

**- Careers are back! But only for Districts One and Two!**

**If you have any questions, please ask me in PM! I will try and respond right away!**

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**Now some rules for the tributes**

**- Please, give me some good names! If I don't like the name I might ask you to change it!**

**- Make the tributes interesting but realistic, unique is key!**

**- Fill in all areas of the form, please!**

**- No recycled tributes, I **_**will **_**find out and they will die in the Bloodbath or as soon as possible!**

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**Other than that,**

**Welcome to **_**Streets I Know! **_


	2. There Part Two

**Famous For Nothing by Simple Plan**

_My life's a show,  
I'm getting paid,  
'Cause I'm famous for nothing._

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**Adulia Vilane, District One- Victor of the 84****th**** Hunger Games**

I hear the elevator roll away from my floor from my immobile position on the cushiony bed. The blinds are still drawn closed and there is no sunlight to beckon a morning awakening, though I have no need for one. I have not slept yet and it is unlikely I will get that comfort tonight either. Sleeping if for people who still live and, though I breathe and my heart has yet to quit beating, I do not feel alive any longer. I liken my slight consciousness to a drug-induced stupor. My lungs still take air but the world is dead to me as I surely am to it.

Sometimes I yearn to accept the gentle, coal-black arms of eternal sleep as they reach out to me. I have convinced myself that the feeling is nonexistent, unreachable to me. Supervision is constant for each one of us who return both inside and outside of the Victor's Apartments, and death has become no more than a pleasant end to an age old nightmare that we will never awaken from. There is no escape from beneath the thumb of the Capitol. I have heard the training of the volunteers for the Hunger Games be likened to the preparing of lambs for the slaughter. But what happens when one of those little white animals survives the daunting cleaver? Do they simply go back to the farm to continue with their normal existence?

Of course not, for the only reason one would have to save a lamb near death is to idolize it. To use it as a deity; a golden statue to worship. The people will clothe it, bathe it, and throw it into the ocean waves because they believe it to be unbreakable. They're wrong, though, because that little worshipped figure is still only a lamb. With tears on her wool and fear in her heart. Still the same little lamb that was taken away from everything and everyone she loved.

I didn't ask for this _gift _and still it was given with praise expected in return. I'll never forgive myself for giving in, for pretending to be thankful for the curses they have bestowed upon me. Even though I know in my heart that there was nothing else I could have done. Nothing other than to have never won at all.

I hear a knock at the door and I rise slowly to answer it. My hands grab for the simple cream nightgown that drapes over my dresser, sliding it on to cover what my meager uniform does not. I peer through the small hole in the door and the second my mind recognizes the face on the other side I swing the door open and throw my arms around her surprised body.

"Coryn!" I cry, resting my chin on her shoulder and squeezing her into me.

"'Dulia," she smiles, using the nickname I only allow her to call me by. She returns the hug as soon as she gets over the initial surprise attack and we stand there like this for a full minute before I think to invite her inside.

"I haven't seen you in months," I tell her once we are both seated at the tiny dining table that takes up most of the kitchen at the back of the apartment. I was told I had no need for one at all since any meal I could ever wish for could be prepared for me in minutes at the press of a button, but I insisted on having my own space to cook. In truth, I hated the idea of them possibly tainting my food with any of their little modifications, so when I had to stay here I always made my own.

"I'm sorry, I meant to call," she says sheepishly, the tone of her voice filling me with worry at the sense of obedience contained within it.

"I know it's none of my business to ask, but were you with-"

"Yes," she interrupts me knowing full well what I had been about to ask. "I was with him."

I have the urge to wrap her into another hug but one glance at the careful expression on her face stops me. She's not young and naive like when I had last seen her, I remind myself, it has been nearly a year. Coryn has no need for me to look after her and even if she did I cannot allow myself to do that. I had been his pet for nearly five years, and I know that having a shoulder to cry on will only make it harder for her to stay strong around him. I choose only to node lamely in response to her confession in lieu of words.

"We talked about the Hunger Games," she blurts out suddenly and I lock my eyes with hers intensely like I sometimes do with the customers that have information I would like to acquire. A look in my eyes that tells them I am listening to whatever they speak of. "He asked me why I hated him and I told him that it was because he had taken me from my family and home for so long."

"W-What did he say?" I choke out, knowing full well that the President hardly responds kindly to any kind of insults about his methods of dealing with tributes. When she doesn't answer, her eyes staring guiltily at something over me, I ask again. "What did he say when you said that?"

"He told me that I had just helped him create the new design, f-for the arena," she stutters with tears slipping down her cheeks in black streaks from her eye makeup. This time I ignore my own advice to help her remain strong by withholding my comfort. The memories of her own Games are still so fresh in her mind, and now she must live with the knowledge that in some way or another she has helped created another child's never ending nightmare.

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_**The Tributes**_

_**District One-**_

_**Female: Estee Garnier, 16**_

_**Male: Talus Vixent, 17**_

_**District Two-**_

_**Female: Lior Montserrat, 16**_

_**Male: Trojan Trinity, 18**_

_**District Three-**_

_**Female: Adira Cipher, 12**_

_**Male: Trace Conduit, 13**_

_**District Four-**_

_**Female: Cosette Davonport, 17**_

_**Male: Markus Ronaldo, 16**_

_**District Five- **_

_**Female: Insi Barnett, 18**_

_**Male: Blaise Allenby, 14**_

_**District Six-**_

_**Female: Leila Pierce, 17**_

_**Male : Daesel Winston, 15**_

_**District Seven-**_

_**Female : Ave Chassing, 17**_

_**Male: Rowan Birbark, 15**_

_**District Eight-**_

_**Female: Lillith Tavern, 18**_

_**Male: Daire Ellis, 15**_

_**District Nine-**_

_**Female: Verlynna Feddarys, 17**_

_**Male: Nolan Sanders, 17**_

_**District Ten-**_

_**Female: Vivian Mayhall, 16**_

_**Male: Tate Raveling, 14**_

_**District Eleven-**_

_**Female: Iora Winsil, 15**_

_**Male: Kanyon West, 14**_

_**Capitol-**_

_**Female: Revela Iva, 16**_

_**Male: Rosario Saturn, 18**_

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**The blog has now been posted!**

** streetsiknowhg . blogspot . ca / (-just remove the spaces- you can also find it on my profile).**

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**The artist theme for this story will be**_** Simple Plan.**_

**Song: **_**Famous for Nothing**_

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**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Who were your favourite six tributes just going by what is on the blog? **_

_**What did you think of the second Mentor I have introduced, Adulia Vilane?**_

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**Thank you all for being patient with the long wait. I have only two unnamed people to blame for that ;P. The Reapings should be posted in about a week's time and then we can start this thing for real!**

**PS: For those of you reading _Written In Ice, _I have not included the Victor in the Mentors for this story. Just pretend that the Victor is sick or something, because they won't be there until after everyone is aware that they won.**


	3. You Won't Hear Them

**One By One by Simple Plan**

_Someday you'll forget it,  
You won't hear them._

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**Micah Breel, 22, District One Victor**

I stand and wave with Adulia when our names are called along with the years we became Victors. Eighty-four for Adulia and eighty-five for me. The only two Victors from the same district who won back to back years since the reinstating of the Hunger Games. Adulia's hair blows into my face as a gust of wind takes hold of it and I wipe it away with a quick motion of the hand. Most of the standing crowd cheers our names and applauds loudly. We are the champions of District One, we are the ones who have the job of ensuring another victory this year. It doesn't even cross their minds that this is the fifth year since our district has had a Victor. They just keep applauding with the blindness I have become accustomed to.

We sit down before the applause ceases and the Mayor rises to give his speech. It has been the same thing each year, at least since I was old enough to hear it. The Hunger Games were created to make unity between the Capitol and its districts, over forty years ago one rebel rose up and caused catastrophe. It was only thirty years after the unnamed rebel's takeover that President Cyrus was able to recreate Panem as the nation it was always supposed to be. Now we once more send tributes as they have done almost ninety times in my district. Now I am one of the mentors that is burdened with helping the new tributes train and prepare.

Adulia is hardly ever at the Academy anymore, choosing to remain in the Victor's Complex that Cyrus has built for us. I am only called there for two months out of each year, but for some reason she stays longer. She doesn't like to talk about anything like that with me, though, so I can only suspect.

"Boy or girl?" I whisper the traditional question between us, pertaining to which tribute we will each have to mentor. She shrugs and eyes me with a new suspicion, 'girl' she mouths as the ceremony begins with the escort choosing the slip out of the female glass. No doubt to soon be replaced by the cry of a volunteer.

"I volunteer!" The call is right on cue, exactly as predicted. I would be lying to say that it was every year that District One had a volunteer from both sections, but I would also be lying if I said it didn't happen like that at least half the time here. This is just one more year with a female volunteer. Yet another girl that will be met with the unknown that is the Hunger Games. The truth that they never teach you in the Academy. I should know, I lived through it and even then only barely.

The girl that steps forward is no bigger than my little finger. By the looks of her I would guess about fifteen but seeing as the age for volunteers at the Academy is sixteen or older she would have to be at least that old. I don't remember her, but then again I'm almost never there with the students anymore. This tiny, blonde thing could be the top student this year and I wouldn't even know.

"What's your name, darling?" The escort drawls with the signature Capitol accent, holding the microphone out towards her.

Grabbing the microphone with delight the girl speaks loudly into the device causing it to screech. Many people near the front of the stage press their hands to their ears and most wince at the sound. Blondie doesn't even bat an eye. "Estee Garnier."

The escort laughs dismissively and motions Estee over to one side. I nudge Adulia lightly, whispering her luck on mentoring the girl. She doesn't even respond to me and her eyes remain glued on the escort's hand plunging into the second bowl. Before the slip has even been properly unfolded another voice rings through the area, sealing off the year with another volunteer.

A boy with dyed green hair and a cool half-smile steps out of his section with one hand held high above his head. He takes his time striding up to the stage, seeming to relish in the attention he is receiving just by being the first kid to volunteer this year. Already I feel like smacking the boy, and he hasn't even said three words yet. I swear it takes him several minutes to finally reach the stage and when he does he turns around and throws a playful smile and sink into the audience.

"Can we please hurry this up?" The escort says meekly into the microphone, anger seeping through her dutifully peppy demeanor. The kid rolls his eyes and runs up the stairs to stand beside her, nudging Estee in the side and nearly causing her to fall over. Before she can even ask he takes the microphone from the escort's hand.

"My name is Talus Vixent, and I'm here to win."

* * *

**Riah Tavian, 19, District Two Victor**

"At least try and look presentable," Brett snickers as he gazes vainly at his own image in the mirror by the door. Silas nudges him away, the older Victor claiming the spot from him. Brett narrows his light brown eyes at him but says nothing. It has become the tradition within our exclusive group, the lower the year of victory, the more respect you demand from the others. This means that Brett gives up the spot to Silas and shakes his fingers through his hair, awaiting his turn.

It also means that as the youngest and newest Victor I have gained no respect from either of my peers. It has been just three years since I volunteered as tribute and came out as Victor. I take the worst of their insults, plays, and come-ons and I give none in return. Respect is an important part of the new Training Academy.

It was only built after the seventy-ninth Hunger Games, from rumors I have heard it was under the direct wish of President Cyrus who believed that the Games needed to be fully reinstated to their full glory. Career tributes were always important to those Games, or so I have been told. District One and Two eagerly built the new centers with trainees flooding in from the regular schools each day. I was one of those kids, as were Silas and Brett. Silas was already nearly eighteen and he was the first one to volunteer from District Two out of the new school. The first Career victory in such a long time. Brett was nearly fifteen and volunteered three years later and I was just nine years old, received a full set of training, and volunteered seven years after.

I'm the baby of the group and I always will be, until either me or one of the other two can bring home someone else for them to torture. It's a hierarchy and I am just sick of being the peasant girl nobody can look up to. I will bring someone out of that arena if I have to drag them out myself.

"Excuse me, but you are needed now. You must welcome your tributes to the stage," the earpiece I don't remember having scares me so badly that I jump and Brett laughs, putting his arm around me and smiling brightly as we exit the Justice Building and take our seats before the screaming crowd. I look out at the district and smile. How long has it been since I have seen most of these faces?

"Welcome to the Reaping for the 90th Hunger Games!"

"To begin, I will choose the female tribute," the escort beams, not able to dip her delicate hand into the Reaping bowl fast enough. Unfolding the slip at an amazing rate she takes a quick breath and chimes the name into the microphone. "Camille Roux."

"I volunteer!" Two girls scream in unison, each looking at the other with something of shock. The smaller of the two leaps forward and begins to climb the first step to the stage. The taller is quick on her heels, pulling her back by her long hair until the younger whips around with one elbow at the other's face. A squeal echoes in the air and the girl delicately makes the rest of the trip to center stage.

"Lior Montserrat," the girl says before she is asked.

"Thank you, dear," the escort says after a second of confusion. "Let's give her a big hand!"

The audience claps loudly and I watch Lior tapping one toe against the solid wood floor. After a few seconds she opens her mouth again, much to most people's dismay. "Could you just pick the next one, I'm bored."

The escort looks obviously taken aback but she complies unknowing what else she is supposed to do. I stifle a giggle and beside me Silas lets out a humored breath. Escorts are some of the most fun people to mess with and so far I'm starting to like Lior Montserrat.

When the boy's name is chosen it is nothing past what I had expected. A rather young looking boy is chosen and a thin boy moves to volunteer but a quick punch in the gut leaves him breathing hard on the gravel. A taller and much more muscular boy steps out from the crowd behind where the fallen boy is and calmly takes the stage. He doesn't wait to be asked his name either.

"Trojan Trinity's the name."

"The boy's mine," Brett whispers to me and I pretend to be disappointed when in reality I was hoping for the girl. Due to the hierarchy I am not allowed to ask for the tribute of my choice, but this time that won't stop me from getting what I want. And what I want is another girl to keep me company, someone else to take the bullets while I stand behind her. Lior is exactly who I need.

* * *

**Oberon Zeno, 26, District Three Victor**

Even after eight years of sitting up on this stage next to the Mayor's family in my place of _honor_, I still feel it getting no easier. I still think of each of the children I can see before me as nothing but waiting ducks. I still can see blood on the faces of the tributes when they are drawn. I still search for weaknesses in each one as if it would be me that would have to figure out the best way to kill them. I still shudder at myself in the mirror when I see my image, confident in the fact that I should never have let myself win.

I was smart enough, that's pretty much how I won in the first place, but winning was the stupidest thing I have ever done. If I was as smart as I could claim to be before I was Reaped I never would have returned. I would have realized that it was no better than an extended method of death. For not noting that earlier I can no longer bask in the nickname the President has give me, _Einstein. _He laughs each time he calls me that, and I could not bring myself to ask the meaning. Another example of the stupidity I would never have thought myself capable of before the Hunger Games changed me.

The video finally stops playing and I refocus my eyes on the part of the stage on which the escort stands. I have gotten quite good at tuning out anything I do not wish to hear. Also due to an injury during the course of my Games all the sounds around me often sound a bit muffled. The Capitol doctors would fix it if I chose to tell them, but for some reason I want to hold onto the one secret I have. No matter how trivial I want something that I am sure is mine and mine alone.

"Welcome, welcome District Three!" I grimace as the shrill shriek of the escort cuts through the air. I feel the rest of the district flinch along with me, everyone except the Mayor and his wife who sit still and solemn as always. "Oh let's just get on with it! I know you all must just be _dying _with anticipation!"

She removes one of her pink gloves as she steps over to the bowl containing the female names. With a quick swipe of the hand she is left holding a single white slip, which she tears into eagerly with all the grace of a dying crow. She clears her throat loudly as she moves herself back to stand behind the microphone, announcing the girl's name as if it were just one word.

"Adira Cipher!"

A high, squeaking sound that I vaguely recognize as a scream makes its way to my ears and I see a young girl from the front of the girl`s crowd push her way through the children behind her. No one stands in her way, and they let the girl run until Peacekeepers cut through the crowd and grab the now red-faced child.

"No! Seven! Seven! Please! Let me go! Seven! Seven!" The girl shrieks as she is half-carried and half-dragged towards the stage and the waiting escort. Her tiny screams turn to loud sobs and only somewhat understandable shouts that I vaguely translate to the same word she had continually called out 'Seven'.

When Adira is placed down on the stage she freezes up and one of the Peacekeeper's whispers something to her and she shrinks into herself, crying softly into her hands as the escort frantically chooses the next name which she calls in the same fashion as Adira's. "Trace Conduit!"

The boy's shuffle around, again closer to the front of the stage where the younger kids wait, and my heart breaks as one little blonde boy is shivering with his head whipping around him. The boy's near him back away into the crowds as though the little kid had now become poisonous. Just as a new duo of Peacekeepers begins to move in to collect the fidgety boy, he makes a move towards the stage. Clearly not wanting a repeat of the chase for the girl, the Peacekeepers stay close, one with a hand on the boy's back to keep him moving forward.

As Trace climbs the stairs, I catch his eyes and the flash of fear in them startles me. He quickly shuffles to stand near Adira, with only the escort separating them. I can tell the escort is anything but pleased, choosing two young tributes basically ensures her that she will not be escorting for a Victor. I can't help but agree with her, but I know that this knowledge will make it no easier for me to watch them have their blood smeared across the arena walls.

I wish I didn't even know their names because even now they play through my jumbled mind, willing me to do something, anything, to save them. I try to ignore them because I know I can do nothing, but a tear glides down my cheek because I know that I am still going to try.

* * *

**Delta Merena, 29, District Four Victor**

I feel in constant fear as I stand here on stage, as vulnerable as a mouse striding through the cage of a preying lion. Everyone watches me, I know it, and I can feel it. They look at me with accusing eyes because I can't make their children, friends, siblings winners. I just can't. I'm alone, I'm scared, I'm just a child in a woman's body who doesn't know how to train others to be killers. I don't even know how I am standing here. I should be _dead_. I should never have been the Victor. It wasn't supposed to be, why was it?

The truth is I'm too scared to bring home another Victor. I'm terrified of being alone for even a second longer but I can't do that to someone else. Death is the lesser of two wrongs I can do to them. On the one hand, I am stealing the right to live by not giving them the training or advice they need to survive. On the other, if I give them that and they survive they end up just like me. A woman aged not just by years but by centuries it seems sometimes.

A battle between morals, one that never ends in victory for anyone. Some would say for me to ask the tributes chosen, to determine whether they want to live or die, but that would be futile. No one placed in this kind of situation will tell me they want to die. It is not until they finally claim victory that they will regret choosing half-lived-life over death. I know I do, every single day I wake up still breathing.

The girl is called and my heart lurches up to my throat, threatening to spill out altogether. It's not because I know the child, because the name hardly rings a bell. It's not because she is young and small and helpless for, on the contrary, she is likely seventeen or eighteen and tall enough for her age. No, it's because this is really starting again. And Cosette Davonport is about to have her fate decided by someone that can't even claim to know her.

The reaction is an odd one, Cosette seems to fold in on herself with her face pinched and looking downward as the camera seals her fate. Within the crowd awkward shuffling can be heard, not from inside the sections but rather from outside. Even the Mayor himself looks gobsmacked at the girl's choosing. Cosette doesn't look up as she walks to stage alone. Her hands cover her face in what I can only describe as shame, for what I have no idea. Beside his wife and young son, the Mayor squirms in his seat as she approaches, tugging at the neck of his shirt. Cosette keeps her face planted firmly in her hands as the crowd takes her in, but I am close enough to see several tears splash against the concrete floor beneath her.

My eyes are so tightly glued on the girl that I don't even follow the Escort as she plucks the second white slip from the male's bowl. Just like the first time, it seems like the entire district is holding its breath as she unfolds the slip and clears her throat loudly into the microphone.

"And this year's male tribute is," she smiles with fingers reaching out towards the boy's section. "Markus Ronaldo!"

A boy about sixteen or so steps timidly out of the boy's section, his hair covering much of his face and his posture slouched. Someone claps him on the shoulder with a big smile spread across the second boy's shoulder and he yells something up at the Escort before shoving his friend out into the aisle. Markus keeps his hair in his face as he walks slowly up to the stage. All along the way I can hear other boys calling out encouragements and praises, but Markus hardly reacts.

"You're gonna destroy the arena, man!"

"Get it, Markus! Get it!"

"You got this, buddy!"

Finally, when he reaches the stage and the Escort grabs him by his sturdy shoulder and turns him around to face the crowd, does his hair fall away from his face. His lips are curled in an awkward smile that holds more sadness and fear than it could ever joy and his eyes are glazed with slick tears. In the last second before he and Cosette are led into the building I see him hold up one shaking fist in a show of strength. All I can gather from the sign is weakness. Weakness and fear, not just of the Games but also of letting down the boys that claim his early victory.

* * *

**Ambivia Suetonis, District Five- Capitol Replacement**

I sit on stage with a smile planted on my perfectly manicured face, my body turned just so in order to give me the perfect photo angle. Exactly how I was taught all those years ago by my mother. Exactly how the perfect Escort would act. If I was one at all, I mean.

It was all the way back to when I was put in the running to become one of the first Escorts for the Hunger Games since my mother was one thirty years earlier. In most families it was a blessing, a tradition that could finally be carried on and not severed completely. My sister hated the idea of even trying out, fighting it so hard until she finally decided it would be easier to simply throw the audition rather than argue with mother and father any more. It was so simple for her, throw it so that no one would ever give her tributes or a Reaping bowl. Of course, because it was her, she was able to do this simply. She was always better than me at screwing things up.

Unlike her I studied and practiced for days, making the most of the scattered etiquette lessons that mother was able to give me in her spare time. It was imperative that I ace this audition to even be considered. What an honor it would be to be chosen! Not only chosen but given a high district like One or Two! How exciting! Just the thought of this kept me up at night choosing outfits out of catalogues for mother to go out and buy me the next morning.

My audition went horribly. I was clumsy, I spoke out at the wrong moments and the worst, the absolute worst part was that I was wearing the same dress and coat ensemble as the girl ahead of me. To think that the judges assumed I was copying her! How embarrassing! I took the transit home that afternoon and as soon as my door swung closed behind me I collapsed into my pillow in a stream of tears. I would let mother down, now neither of her children would follow in her graceful footsteps. It was all my sister's fault! If she would have kept me motivated this never would have happened. It was her words that had come out of my mouth earlier that day, not my own.

The next day I was called, not for the job of Escort but as Mentor. It was an insult, surely, to be put into the same place where usually a lowly district citizen would stand. But I took it. Despite my mother yelling from the other room her distaste I wanted to be part of the Hunger Games so badly that by this point I didn't even care where that placed me. I went through training and lessons for the next few weeks before I was given my first tributes, the Capitol children no less! Then just last year my role was taken by that Coryn girl. Her winning meant my loss of a job. Thankfully I was offered another position with District Five seeing as they had yet to have a Victor in all these years.

I will not make that mistake again. I will not let a mere child replace me. I will not lose the job closest to what I dreamt of as a young girl to anyone, especially not a district child that could only be alive because of me. After last year I have made the promise to myself that this will never happen again. Whoever these children are they must die, no questions and no exceptions.

"Insi Barnett!"

My head whips around to face the crowd and I find myself hoping for a young girl, perhaps scrawny and short with an innocent face. One that I can say nothing and do nothing to, one that would never win no matter what I tried or didn't try. I fail to hide my disappointment for a half-second as a sturdily built, red-haired girl becomes segregated as the crowd of older girls parts away from her. This must be her, Insi Barnett. She takes a small step towards the stage and holds her chin up high. To my dismay she does not cry, not a tear breaks away from her eyes and her face takes on an appearance of stone. She gets to stage without so much as a peep and the Escort man grows bored, picking the next slip before Insi even mounts the last step.

"Now, please welcome to the stage, Mr Blaise Allenby!" He calls with a kooky grin smeared across his plain face.

Just like with Insi, the boys around Blaise part as if by the calling of his name the boy has already died and came back to haunt them. I can't help my grin from spreading from ear to ear as I take him in. Unlike Insi, he appears to be around fourteen or fifteen years of age. He's not scrawny but certainly not muscular. A good three inches shorter than the girl and nothing special in the least. His brows are furrowed as if in deep thought and his lip stiffens as he takes his first step towards the stage. A boy behind Blaise screams and Blaise noticeably tenses. His eyes close and I watch him take one, then two, then three slow breaths before continuing forward.

He reaches the top of the steps in a matter of minutes, all cries from the audience having been silenced long before then. Blaise goes to take Insi's hand but his hesitation catches my eye. I move my gaze up and see exactly what he saw. Not only is Insi not crying like I won't pretend I hadn't hoped she would, but she is smiling with her eyes looking dreamy and far-away. I sense my heartbeat quicken as the two disappear from my view and go into the Justice Building. I have to watch her, Insi Barnett could be the one thing stopping me from continuing my dream job. I cannot let her give the boy hope. I cannot let her _have _hope.

* * *

**Trenton Vance, 22, District Six Victor**

It's funny that even after this many years I can still pick out my old friends and neighbors from the crowd of people. There's so many people living in District Six, more than I could probably count in a month, and yet my gaze always lands on someone I knew. Maybe it's because I knew pretty much anyone growing up around the same time I had. Maybe it's some cruel mind trick for your eyes to always follow the people you don't want to see. Maybe it's a little of both.

Growing up I had it all, man those were the days. I was popular, not just in the stereotypical sense in that I knew a lot of people, but also in the way that I think people genuinely liked being around me. At least I hoped they did. I was the type of kid that could get along with anyone, I think that's the best part of it. The way I could sleep easy at night knowing that I hadn't been a huge dick to anyone that day or that I hadn't made some nerd cry in the corner in the locker room. No, that wasn't me. I'm glad I can say that now because that's all I'm left with now is memories. Memories and faces and names, all of them clustered together into crumples of a life I wish I still could live without regrets.

Now it's different and I can't quite put my finger on the reason for it. Well, I know the immediate cause at least was me being Reaped into the Hunger Games at age eighteen and coming out three weeks later as Victor. It was a weird feeling if I'm being honest here. Not bad and not good, just weird. I was alive but everyone else was dead. I was thankful but at the same time guilty. I would still get to live my life and yet I realized that nothing would ever be the same again. All of the people I had left back in District Six couldn't understand me anymore. I just couldn't bring myself to care about the things that my life had revolved around just a month prior. It just wasn't me anymore, but it was still them. I had to watch all my old friends move on without me. Get married, some of them have even kids and move into their first houses. All the while I holed up in my perfect house in the Victor's village, where all the other houses were empty and it was only me.

I could live in the complex that the President had built for us all the way back before District Two had even won themselves their first Victor. I had even built some bonds with the other Victors that spent so much time there. It was our escape and our prison in a weird kind of way. But it was better than the alternative, watching through paned windows as our worlds moved on without us.

My thoughts return to my present position just in time to see the escort pull the first white slip out of the furthest glass bowl from my seat, the girl's I presume since it is custom they be chosen first. "This year's female tribute representing District Six will be... Leila Pierce!"

Mutters of disdain can be heard rippling through the square but for a moment no one steps forward. My eyes turn to the screen above me which searches for the girl amongst the likely thousands that each search around them.

Then I see her, a girl with long hair that steps, red-faced, out of the middle of the sections. Her lips are pressed together, tightly upturned in a forced smile even though her eyes threaten harsh tears. She takes each step carefully as if the very concrete beneath her feet might collapse under her if she placed her foot too harshly. The entire length of the aisle towards the stage, Leila holds her head high and her eyes open. She doesn't blink back the tears but rather lets them coat her cheeks, though the smile just will not leave her face. By the time she reaches the stage the entire district is silent, already in mourning of a girl that it is obvious that many people know.

It's just like me all over again. She is going to lose everyone, and within weeks they'll all but forget her face.

"How lovely!" the escort continues, already in the process of reaching her greedy hand into the second glass bowl to pull the boy's name. "Now let me be the first to welcome to the stage, District Six's male tribute... Daesel Winston!"

A boy steps immediately out into the open with eyes as wide as china saucers. He walks with quick, jerky movements towards the stage like someone had lit a fire beneath his trousers. That is, until about halfway there and Daesel collapses in on himself completely. His knees hit the concrete hard, and his hands fly up to his face to cup the flowing tears. Peacekeepers are by his side within seconds, pulling him to his feet and half-carrying, half-dragging him the rest of the way to the stage.

With Leila's shaking smile and river of tears alongside Daesel's broken sobs and cries, the escort looks completely lost. As Peacekeepers rush to either tribute to bring them inside she turns around with a trying smile to the audience.

"Your tributes, District Six!"

* * *

**Betony Mare, 28, District Seven Victor**

Comfortingly, I run my hand over Lynden's as he shakes visibly beside me. It's been so hard for him, even harder than it was for me when I returned, and even though it has been just about eight years since he came out I don't push him to rebuild. I know how hard it is, and I would be lying if I said that I had been able to rebuild anything since coming back. The only thing that has kept me grounded, that has kept me from going to extremes like so many other Victors I have seen, is him. Keeping Lynden sane keeps me sane somehow. Or maybe it's just the balance between our two insanities brings a kind of sanity in itself. Either way it works, we've made it work.

"I can't," he breaths and I have to hold back the gag that his breath brings on. It's impossible to get used to the smell of rotting teeth and smoke, even after living with it in him for over seven years. Drugs are the only thing that allow him to escape, or so he says. I wish there was another way, but it's been too long for this to change. He's already a part of the drugs, and them of him. I wish he would have told me before it got this hard to stop.

There's been times when it was that bad that I have wanted to turn to something that can help me escape, especially in the early years when I felt so completely alone. I wanted to be stronger than that though. If I give in to drugs or drinks, it just makes it that much easier for them to control me. I want, no I _need _to hurt. Just so that if the time ever comes to fight this, I can fight for what I feel right now. All the hurt, all the despair, all the uncertainty, all the deceit, and all the mourning. There will be an end to this. There has to be.

I nudge Lynden in the side and nod forward with a warning whisper, "it's starting, look alive."

Sure enough it was, the escort already had her searching glove set into the first Reaping bowl. Her eyes search around and I can see the fierce look as if she were trying to pick the tribute herself. I knew that look well enough, it was the job of escorts to pick a winner. It was a coveted position to hold being the escort for a Victor. She wants another winner, it's been long enough for District Seven that she can probably almost taste the victory.

"Please welcome to the stage, Miss Ave Chassing!"

The camera finds the redheaded girl in the section immediately as someone pushes her forward and she stumbles numbly into the aisle separating the girls from the boys. Her eyes are lit up with alarm but that is all I am able to distinguish for a solid ten seconds, that is until her hands fly up to her face and her body begins to shake with sobs that look like they might break her in half. She is helped onstage by Peacekeepers which only makes her wail louder, but for just a fraction of a second our eyes meet as she faces away from the crowd and I can see it in that short amount of time. This girl is no weakling, at least not as much of one as she wants people to think.

With Ave standing shakily at one side, the escort's smile is not quite as bright. She turns with a sigh towards the second bowl and I can almost see the pleading in her eyes for it to be someone strong, or at the very least someone who will not embarrass her further. Tributes are important to escorts and they take pride in who they choose. One more crying freak and I can safely say she will be in hot water with her colleagues for the rest of the ceremonies. "Now, from the male's side. Please welcome, Rowan Birbark!"

Rowan is singled out immediately, much like Ave had been. Instead of pushing him away like the girls had done to Ave, though, the boys backed away from Rowan as if he were some kind of new parasite. The boy in the middle of the circle turns so pale I think he might pass out, but he just looks around him at the other boys with a bewildered look on his face until a Peacekeeper is sent in to retrieve him.

I can see the escort pale just as Rowan had, her smile all but disappearing entirely. And just judging by the look on her face I can tell this isn't going to be a good year, not just because of her dying reputation but because I don't want to any more tributes at all. Even though it appears that I have a very good chance at losing both for the seventh year in a row.

* * *

**Tiberius Nero, District Eight- Capitol Replacement**

I can't believe it's already time! It feels like just yesterday when the Capitol welcomed home the beautiful Coryn DuPont as our newest Victor. How exciting, no? I can't rightly say that I was surprised at her victory, with beauty and age on her side it's no wonder she blew right on past those other tributes. I just cannot wait to watch the recaps of the rest of the Reapings later tonight on the train ride back. It is always so awesome to see who will be competing against whoever is chosen here in District Eight.

District Eight- along with Five and Eleven- has yet to have a Victor of its own, so we have Capitol stand ins just like every other year. I hope that can change soon, though. Not that I don't enjoy my job because I sure do, but because I think it would really bring up the morale of District Eight as a whole if they were to have their very own symbol of hope living right here alongside them!

I conjure up one of my most dazzling smiles as the first slip is about to be drawn from the bowl, with the girl's name being picked first of course. The tension is evident within the crowds but I don't understand how they can all be so on edge? Why wouldn't any of these children want to go out and prove themselves to bring glory and reward back home to their district? I know that if I were still of eligible age for the Reaping I would sure consider it! Also the apartments that the tributes stay in for the week before the Games begin is totally lush, if I didn't have this job I would be completely envious of the tributes that got to room there even for such a short time. Thank Panem that I don't have to worry about missing out on all the fun, I get to stay there for the entire duration of the Games to talk strategy with my team and decide on sponsor flow. A tiring job, but well worth it for the obvious perks.

"Our female tribute is, Miss Lillith Tavern!" The escort shrieks into the microphone and I chuckle. For all the years I have been partnered with her, I don't think I have once witnessed the woman whisper anything. Let's just say that if the fad was screaming, she would be at the top of the fashion charts.

A almond-eyed, beautiful blonde reaches out from between the stacks of girls to stand elegantly between the two sections of teenagers. Her legs and arms looked endless in a tight mini-dress, her blonde locks wild and wavy. I can't help the quick intake of breath that escapes my lips at the mere sight of her. Now this is the kind of tribute that will most definitely pull a few sponsors.

Lillith strides confidently up to stage without so much as a hitch in her step. Finally, a tribute with common sense! Most tributes I see are weeping or shaking as they're reluctantly pulled onto the stage, as if they weren't about to be whisked off to a city of pure luxury. Lillith owns it, and all eyes are glued to her. To top it all off she gives a tight squeeze to the escort before taking her place beside her, one eye mysteriously hidden behind a curly blonde curtain of hair.

"How lovely! Let's give it up for Miss Lillith Tavern!" The woman shrieks, but with little response save a few straggled and confused sounding claps from odd angles of the crowd. When she realizes it's futile she rolls her eyes and strides over to the second bowl, failing, I might add, to mimic Lilith's step. "Now, for the boys. This year's tribute will be, Daire Ellis!"

Daire steps out from the middle of the boy's section almost as soon as his name has been called. His hands are clenched into tight fists and he shakes visibly from head to toe, but manages to retain a stern face. He keeps himself close to his section as he walks up, only stopping after a quick foot sends him sprawling to the floor on his face. A vulgar threat is spat at Daire and I gasp, unaccustomed to such disgusting language from children of this age group. Daire gets up and, without so much as dusting himself off first, turns to lock eyes intensely with the owner of the leg that had tripped him. Just as I think that maybe I should wave the Peacekeepers forward to collect Daire, he quickly turns away from the crowd and huffs the rest of the way up to the stage. Beside him, Lillith looks none too happy with this new district partner of hers and Daire returns her look of disgust with narrowed eyes. I'm sure, though, that the two of them will get along soon enough.

I laugh to myself, that's where I come in. It's my job to make them civil enough not to kill each other before the Games. I can already tell this will be none too easy, but that's exactly why I signed up for this job.

* * *

**Linett Midori, 15, District Nine Victor **

A hill runs down my spine and I shiver. I wish I didn't have to wear a dress this thin on such a chilly day. I wish I could choose what I wore. I don't want funny looking people to do my hair or tell me what I have to wear. Even my mommy won't stand up to them anymore, she says it's pointless. I don't think it is. I want to be myself, not have them tell me what I have to do.

I don't even want to be sitting here. Last year I didn't have to. I overheard them telling my assistant that I was too fragile or something. That suits me just fine, I don't want to do what they tell me. just seeing them brings back memories of times I wish to forget.

I shiver again, my body stiffening as my vision turns red and bloody. It's like I can feel the warm, sticky redness pouring out of me as that boy attacked me on the last day. Blood and bruises, blood and bruises. My assistant, Vieve, still tells me about the first few days when I was in the hospital wing of the Training Center and that's all I would say over and over again. blood and bruises. She tells me it scared her, but that doesn't make sense to me. I think I was just recounting what I saw for those two and a half weeks, as my alliance dropped from five to two in bursts of blood and as my body became littered with bruises as I tried to escape the blood. I don't think I ever have done that, because I still wake up with bruises from violent nightmares,

Blood and bruises always follow each other. That's why they say I need Vieve with me all the time, and a guard at night. To stop the blood and bruises from coming back to me.

"This year's female tribute who will represent District Nine in the upcoming Hunger Games will be, Verlynna Feddarys!"

Oh yeah, I almost forgot why I had to be sitting up here with Vieve caressing my back in a calming fashion as I shivered in my thin, cotton dress. It's the Reaping again. Last year I didn't have to be here but I think I had seen lots before I went into the Hunger Games. I never was one to pay them much attention, and my being a Victor hasn't changed that much. I barely can even be considered a Victor, can iI? That's what people say sometimes when they think I can't hear them.

A commotion happens in one corner of the Square and my eyes dive towards it along with everyone else on stage. It seems that one of the girls has fainted, but, wait? There's something else. It looks like another girl is trying to run away with the fainted girl, but why?

It hits me when Peacekeepers give chase to the two girls, one of them must be that Verlynna girl, the one that was just Reaped. It doesn't take long for the men to catch up to the two girls, the running one weighed down by the other, and they are split up immediately. The one that had fainted is fairly pretty with straight, blonde hair and delicate features and she is dragged halfway up to the stage before she even rouses. Her friend is escorted out of the sections by three more Peacekeepers, screaming and cursing all the while for them to take their hands off of her friend.

As Verlynna is set up on the stage, still as pale as death and body shaking like a leaf about to fall in the autumn, the candy pink escort moves over to choose the boy's name from the second glass bowl. She unfolds the white paper carefully and the entire district takes a collective breath, one that tells me all of them are hoping it's not them or someone they know. The sad truth is, though, that it must be someone. "This year's male tribute will be, Nolan Sanders!"

After a few seconds of shock, an average looking boy with dark hair and eyes steps numbly out from the back of the male section. There is not a hitch in his step nor a twitch in his face and I can't help but think that behind that face there are probably a thousand morbid thoughts of what's to come. One thing that I have noticed in such a short time is that the tributes that hold the best poker faces are the ones most likely to break under the pressure last.

As Nolan gets within a few steps of the stage, a shrill cry cuts out from the female section along with a pretty girl that rushes straight toward him. She latches onto him with both arms, holding him tight to her until Peacekeepers begin to move towards the two of them to break them apart. Before they can make it that far, though, Nolan shakes the girl off of him and turns back to take the last few steps towards the stage. The district gasps collectively and another girl surges forward to collect the first girl, her face red and streaked with tears that just don't stop coming. I can almost feel the girl's pain at being rejected, that is until Nolan passes me on his way up.

It is then that I see the tears threatening to spill over his lids and I understand instinctively that he is hurting just as badly as she is. If not worse.

* * *

**Flint Berwick, 29, District Ten Victor**

I rub my eyes again just to keep myself from falling over. Every part of me aches insanely, but that matters about as much as it did the first year after I won. To clarify that means it doesn't matter at all to the frenzied people who got me up and ready today. Not one single bit.

The Mayor stands from his chair beside me and I flinch as once again he talks far too loudly into the microphone. I resist the urge to cover my ears, not that it would matter much to anyone watching. They would just think the same thing as they always have. Flint just had another rough night, trying to drink himself into early death or at least into a comatose state. In that definition, they are right and wrong. But mostly wrong.

I'm not trying to kill myself, I'm too far past that by now. I don't want to be unresponsive to everything around me, or at least I wouldn't feel the urge to if there could be a reason for me to find not to be. I haven't given up on the world quite yet. Even though it seems like they have given up on poor Flint Berwick.

The same old Treaty speech comes and goes, only adding to my headache and making me wish for the millionth time that I hadn't even gotten out of bed this morning. I lean forward with my elbows on my thighs and my hands on my forehead as the Escort addresses the district. "Wasn't that just wonderful? Better and better every year, educational too!"

When she doesn't get a reaction, just like she has done every year and every other escort has done in District Ten since the Hunger Games began again, she just jumps right into the real reason for everyone gathering here against their will. The choosing of the names, girl first and then boy. Same as every other year I can remember.

"Let's just get right to it then," she says between clenched teeth and skitters over to the farthest bowl to pull the first slip. Unfolding it carefully she returns to stand before the microphone, smile giving away her undeniable eagerness. "This year's lucky lady is, Vivian Mayhall! Come on up, darling!"

Not unlike many other tributes before her, just seconds after her name is called I can hear the telltale sounds of a damned tribute trying to make a run for it. I look up just in time to see the team of Peacekeepers that always stand guard around the perimeter of the sections catch up to her. She is easily lifted off of her feet and dragged with a pained cry towards the stage on which I am seated. It's only halfway up that I notice the change in her. She doesn't even struggle anymore as every emotion falls from her face and all that is left behind is a blank features and a limp body.

The escort tries to break the tension created by a tribute trying to escape yet again. "Well then, wasn't that... exciting! Let's hope that we get another fighter from the boy's side shall we?"

Just like the first time she quickly pulls one of the thousands of white slips off the top of the pile and retreats back to her comfortable spot behind the microphone. She clears her throat loudly causing the device to squeal with distaste and everyone flinches at the sound. Barely batting a bedazzled eyelash, she continues on. "This year's fortunate fellow is, Tate Raveling! Step on forward, son!"

No one moves this time, either meaning that the newly named tribute is pissing himself in fear or he's simply not here, which has in fact happened once in a past year. I'm willing to bet it's the former and my suspicions are confirmed when a strong shove sends a boy flying forward into the aisle that separates the girls and boys. I'd bet money that this is the kid.

His face is small and round, meaning he's likely under fifteen. He's small enough with no real meat on his bones but the most distinguishing thing I can collect about him at this point is the size of his eyes as the realization of what's happening dawns on him. Much to his credit, he doesn't make a run for it. Instead he stands carefully and dusts off his knees and chest, keeping both eyes unblinkingly starring up at the stage, before stepping forward on shaking legs. Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, for him he makes it up to stand beside Vivian and the escort in one piece. Poor kid. Doesn't even realize how much he is going to wish he took that chance to run for it.

* * *

**Battia Marcus, District Eleven- Capitol Replacement**

Just thinking about those stupid, lucky kids sitting on stages across Panem, most over nicer and cleaner districts than this disgusting eleventh; it makes me sick. These kids have done nothing. Nothing that makes them deserve to be sitting there in my place. I have given the Capitol and the Hunger Games the best years of my life, since the very beginning I have been standing behind the President as he chose to reinstate the Games, and yet this is all the reward I can hope to reap? Sitting in front of the lowliest district in Panem with children that would never dream of volunteering and simply look up at me with filth on their faces and hopeless helplessness in their eyes. Whereas the pathetic little "Victors" of the Hunger Games earn a spot the year after, replacing my colleagues and soon enough myself?

Just look at that girl, Coryn. The first Capitol Victor who just this year replaced Ambivia, who luckily found a spot in District Five replacing Anine who had been placed there after Tiberus chose to step down to District Eight. Every year that a new district reaps a Victor, it only means one more of us out of a job. As it stands there are only three of us left, Ambivia, Tiberus, and myself. But how long until the three of us are wiped away too? We're only here until they can replace us, and then what? No one knows. I haven't heard a peep from any of the other Capitol Mentors since they were replaced.

"Welcome, welcome citizens of District Eleven to the Reapings for the 90th Annual Hunger Games! Now has come the time that we will reap the male and female tributes. As always, we'll begin with the ladies," the escort smiles. She has nothing to worry about, a young, pretty, blonde girl without a care in the world beyond pulling one of those white papers from each bowl. If only we all could have the same certainty.

"Could Miss Iora Winsil please step forward as District Eleven's chosen female tribute?"

Nobody moves a muscle and I scan the section of girl's, silently hoping for someone helpless and useless. Someone that the sponsors would never waste money on and someone that is thin as a stick and light as a feather. As sick as it might be, I hope for someone that the Career tributes will break in half within seconds of the gong.

Finally it seems like they have found the tribute when I see the Peacekeepers lazily step into the section near the middle to retrieve the girl. I hold my breath as they are about to emerge and let it out in a low laugh that I cover gracefully with a cough. She's quite a helpless as I had hoped her to be, but I think she'll do. Iora's eyes are as wide as saucers and she looks quickly between the two Peacekeepers hoisting her with ease. As they place her on stage I have no doubts that this little girl will not cause me any kind of issues when it comes to her dying on cue.

The male is called, Kanyon West, but unlike with Iora it is very easy to pick him out in the crowd immediately. A scrawny, somewhat taller boy is segregated from the others as he falls to his knees, shaking and sobbing loudly and openly. Everyone just kind of stares at him as he seems to pull himself together somewhat, well at least enough to stand up and walk towards the stage. Most of the guards are still standing near the stage just in case Iora tries to make a break for it, so I'm sure they're glad enough for Kanyon's "bravery". I, however, just stare him down with cold eyes as he mounts the steps, shaking and sniveling like the child he is and the tribute I need him to be.

I will not let him think he can be brave through all this. He needs to know where he stands, which is that he stands in the background and tries not to last longer than he's supposed to. I won't have this little brat be the reason I'm not standing here next year.

* * *

**Coryn DuPont, 19, Capitol Victor**

I sit with my legs crossed to hide my shaking insides. My eyes are as blank as I can force them to be and my lips are pursed together to stop the chattering of my teeth. The truth is that I am terrified to be back up here. Back on the stage that claimed me and my district partner, reliving the moments that sent my life crashing down around me. Feeling the touch of my escort's hand on my shoulder and going back through that feeling of despair when I realized what was really happening. It was only last year and yet I could swear it was seconds ago. With every minute that goes by I am closer and closer to running straight off of this stage and into the arms of parents I know wouldn't be able to understand anymore.

I never told anyone about anything, no one except my fellow Victors that I knew would likely be the only ones to truly understand me. Not one person other than us knows what has really happened to us, or how we have come to deal with it. Everyone has their way of dealing with pain, but when the pain is this extreme and coming from all angles and sources. Sometimes it's not enough to deal with it anymore. Sometimes you just want to end it. But you can't end it unless you end you, and when you have fought this hard for life that's too hard a decision for you to make. Every ounce within you wants the pain to end, but it's too hard to force yourself to stop fighting, to stop breathing, to stop _being_. You just can't.

I won't pretend that I wish I wasn't alive right now. I won't say that winning was never worth it because it has to be. It has to be enough for me just to be alive or I won't be able to handle it anymore. One day I just might break. I'm already so far beyond cracked that it won't take much for me to just stop being. But I won't give in. I won't. I _can't_.

The welcome of the escort makes me feel so much smaller, sitting on this stage in all my glory. The words ring in my ears and her voice, her voice is so familiar that it makes me want to scream. She reaches into the first bowl and as her lips begin to form the first name I almost expect for it to be mine. But I'm safe now, safe in my own personal hell, but safe all the same.

"Evelyn Laroe!"

"I volunteer!"

A pretty girl with raven-black hair and delicate features steps out of the back of her section just as a younger girl with huge eyes and pink streaks in her hair does the same. At the call of the volunteer, the younger one whirls around but is too shocked to move away. She doesn't cry or shake, but she just stands numb as she watches the dark haired girl stride forward. As she passes her, she pushes her to the ground and hisses something no one but the younger girl can hear. Pink streaks flying, the girl scrambles back to wedge herself between the other girls her age while the older girl continues forward without so much as a hinge in her step. The crowd gasps but nothing more, and by the time the volunteer has reached center stage her face is moulded back into a sickly sweet grin.

"And your name would be?" The escort questions her, shoving the microphone so close the girl might have choked on it is she moved forward another inch or two.

"Revela Iva," the girl says calmly and retires to stand in her place beside the escort.

With an ecstatic smile, the escort hurries to pull the second name and even before she has fully reached the microphone the name is spilling from her over-powdered lips. "Rosario Saturn!"

The tall boy is easily distinguishable by his height as he strides to the stage from the back of the boy's section to the stage. There is an air of confidence around him as he moves with perfect posture, not the all over himself kind of walk that people so tall sometimes acquire. All eyes are focused on Rosario, as with Revela just minutes before, and it seems that even our local volunteer can't help but follow him. Even I can't quite pinpoint it, but he's somewhat off. I just couldn't tell you why.

He soars up the stairs with ease and as he arrives at center stage he takes hold of Revela's hand and kisses it dramatically. She pulls it away in disgust and throws her hand forward to slap him, but before she can he is no longer there and the only thing she hits is air. Rosario throws her an eerie smile and a playful wink and her smile is all but forgotten, replaced by a hatred that sends shivers down my spine.

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**The artist theme for this story will be**_** Simple Plan.**_

**Song: **_**One by One**_

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**The blog for this story can be found on my profile.**

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**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Which of these are your favourite Mentors?**_

_**Out of the 24 of them, which tributes have made an impression on you so far?**_

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**Sorry about all the waiting, I really am. With me going away I thought I would have more time to write but I did not. I also had an issue with one submitter not giving me his tribute, which I have just had to move on without for now. Hopefully you haven't all abandoned me by now, because I think I'm finally able to start this story for real now.**

**Just a note about this chapter, it was mainly focused on developing the new Victors I have created to be the Mentors for your tributes. All of them are different and have gone through their own struggles, and some of them might seem a bit off in the sense that they don't act their age or something. One example of this is Linett, but I am fully aware she does not seem 15 and that is my perceived result of the Games on her psyche. If you have any questions about them, feel free to ask because for all of it there is a reason. **

**I hope to update every about week and a half, but I am going away one more time before the summer is up. When school starts everything should go back to normal, and until the you'll all just have to hang in there for me. **

**P.S. HAPPY BIRTHWEEK MEGAN! THIS IS FOR YOU MY LOVELY :D **


	4. Never Be Like You

**Crash and Burn by Simple Plan**

_Nothing can change us  
No one will stop us  
I'll never be like you._

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**Leila Pierce, 17, District Six**

I marvel at the gorgeous black gown that fits my figure like a glove to a slender hand. It's long and sleek, running from the tops of my shoulders down to just above my ankles where peep-toed shoes peer out from beneath the hem. I look like a black swan, thin and beautiful with my hair cascading down my back in a sheer curtain. I look to my stylist with tears in my eyes. I have never felt so amazing in my life.

"It's wonderful," I whisper, my arms moving in sync with my feet towards him to envelope him in a hug when I stumble and end up balanced awkwardly in his grip. He looks at me with wide eyes and rights me instantly, taking his hands away from me and pulling out a little bottle of gel to massage into his hands. I blurt out a thank you to him but he doesn't seem to notice. One thing about my stylist is that he doesn't seem to like being touched. Like at all.

I try again. "Thank you so much for the dress, it looks amazing. I can't believe the work that it must have taken, or the time either."

He still seems preoccupied with the little bottle but at least this time he answers me somewhat. "It's my job to make you presentable."

I thank him one more time before he looks me dead in the eyes and asks me to stop thanking him because it's making him uncomfortable. I blush furiously and nod, unable to speak for fear that I might thank him again. It's odd, though, since when I asked Trenton about how to make the stylists like me he said just to compliment me. Why isn't it working, people always seem to like me but he doesn't seem to at all. I guess I'll just have to try harder.

"I can't imagine Daesel's outfit will be able to match the wonder of mine, you really have outdone anything District Six usually would get, um, what was your name again sorry?"

"Stylists are required to match outfits from now on, there must be enough similarities or they wouldn't be able to make you seem like partners," he tells me without answering my last question. His head is ducked as he looks idly through boxes filled with sparkly objects and little jingly bracelets and necklaces. I'm not wearing even a bit of it but I don't complain at all. It's his vision and I will do my best to fit with that, no matter how ungraceful this swan is.

"Oh," I say with a thick gulp. "What was your name again, um, sorry I think I forgot when you told me."

"I never told you," he says flatly and I think that it's the end of the discussion because he leaves the room out of one of those funny sliding doors that always seem to let everyone else out except me. I'm left alone in the room of mirrors and boxes and hangers for less than a minute before a Peacekeeper fetches me from the stupor I've built myself into. He doesn't talk to me either, no matter what I try.

People here don't seem to like me and I just can't understand. I had so many friends back in Six, where are they now when I need them?

* * *

**Insi Barnett, 18, District Five**

I can see it in their eyes, either the fire or the water. Both elements, while having more similarities than differences, symbolize different states of mind in my fellow tributes. Water, represented by a cooled color, shows acceptance of what they believe fate has chosen for them. While fire, represented by a heated color, symbolizes a desire to fight that very principle. For now there are few tributes with the helpless blue in their eyes, but I know this will change soon enough. For if one were to know one thing about fire it would be that it cannot be made solely from water. That and the simple fact that it is far easier to extinguish fire with water than it is to be rid of water through fire.

Just by glancing at them one could distinguish it. The fire from the water, the red from the blue, the fight from the fear. Already I can make a good estimate of who truly wants to win and who will give in to failure before it has even had the opportunity to touch them. There are few of those for now but that shall change. We've hardly been here half a day; the situation has hardly had a chance to sink in yet.

Dark eyes that seem to have become almost familiar to me lock with mine and oddly enough I note something different in them. Not blue like I had originally thought, nor the red that I adore and look for in my own. Not either, but something else entirely.

_Clear. _

I see no color at all, just like the air we all breathe there is nothing and yet still something in the dark spheres of my district partner. Air. Freedom and indecisiveness. He isn't yet sure of which path he will take, but something inside of him knows that he is not a fighter. But he won't extinguish the flames like water will, no instead air will feed them. Encouragement. So close and so important to the fierce element and yet he can never be that. He is air, simply air, amazingly air.

"Insi," he says lazily. "Ambivia said it's time to get up now."

"Of course," I say in answer for he is air. I no longer must look out for his extinguishing waves because there is still hope for him. Air is not water, and fire needs air like people need food.

My grey skirt flutters around my hips as I join my partner to climb the ladder to the top of our chariot. His costume fits with mine so neatly, yet I must laugh because we are not the same at all. Right now, though, we are outfitted in shadowed grey. This is what the Capitol wishes us to show, that we are not elements but merely pawns and pieces to be moved or removed at will.

Only the flames will fight this role they have been handed. I know this because I have seen it myself, up close and personal. The different kinds of people I've seen; the water and the fire. The blue that gives in as soon as they notice the metal reflection in your eyes. They are the easiest because they do not want to be, for surely if they did they would have fought for it no matter the odds.

The red is the one that becomes complicated. They will fight until their last breath or until cool acceptance washes over them and colors them blue. It becomes a talent, an art form, to know one type from the other; the true fighter from the one that allows themselves to be put out. Even I cannot be sure until paint flows from their veins and they've nearly run out of time. But if they truly want to be, if they fight until they become unable, it is then that I can be sure. It is then that I will do all in my power to save them.

* * *

**Rowan Birbark, 15, District Seven **

"Do you remember what I showed you?" Betony asks me and I nod lamely. She smiles just a little bigger and her words echo in my mind. _Be someone that the Capitol can remember, be the boy with a strong mine and interest in his eyes. Make them know you because you made them. _She wants me to be intriguing to the audience. Betony has coached me since I stepped foot on the train and I hope I'm ready because she tells me that this is the best chance I have to capture the audience's attention. We can focus later on finding a way to keep it.

"I know you're ready, just be what we practiced," she tells me softly and I understand the implementation. Not _do_ what we practiced but live it because everyone will be watching me for the rest of my life whether I come out of that arena or not. It makes no different for me, not when I look at both of my mentors and see the truth written all over their faces like novels.

"I am him," I say more to calm both of than anything. Then, with one hand helping me up and the other struggling to grasp the metal bar above me, I mount the chariot. Ave has a final few seconds with Lynden before she joins me, but by that time her smile is wiped cleanly off her lips. Ever since we first spoke on the train it has occurred to me that she has some sort of personal dislike for me. Whereas with Lynden and even Betony she is all withered smiles and weak nods. I cannot wrap my mind around what I could have done to deserve only cold glares and flat scowls, but that's not exactly something I can just go up and ask her. I can only hope that she will warm up to me eventually, even though I am under the impression that whatever she has against me is deeper than just heightened emotions.

"Attention! Attention tributes and mentors! I have an announcement from President Cyrus," someone says and every head in the stable whips around to face a short man with dark sideburns and lavender eyebrows. I see some of the mentors take a collective breath and close their eyes, giving me the idea that they know what to expect from him. The tributes show their surprise more clearly with visible shaking and widened eyes. I even look down and notice that my own balled fists are quaking softly.

"The honorable President Cyrus wishes to remind all of you that you are simply guests in his city and his home. Each one of you has been brought here for a purpose but this does not mean there will be any special rights for any of you. Should there be any infractions of the law they will be dealt with swiftly and severely. That is all, the Tribute Parade will begin momentarily." With that the man steps back through the door from which I presume him to have come from, leaving us with nothing but the sound of a slamming door and a whole lot of confusion.

"What was that about?" I wonder aloud, not really expecting an answer and not receiving one either. Ave simply glares at me in her own sort of response, basically telling me to shut up. Just as I am about to tuck the question into the back of my mind to bring up with Betony later, her head pops up beside me causing me to nearly leap off the chariot in surprise.

"I didn't want the two of you being distracted by that," she tells us quickly in response to my unspoken question. "They're just trying to scare you because last year one of the tributes nearly strangled their stylist to death before the parade. They just don't want a repeat, it might get out to the masses. Don't fret over the news and just concentrate on what you both need to do."

Before I can even nod in agreement she has popped back down to the ground and within seconds light swarms into the stable as the giant doors are pulled open to the City Circle. Cheers erupt in my ears at painful decibels and I all but fall over myself as our chariot begins to roll forward. All I can do is plaster a half smile on my face and try not to remember why I'm here as our turn nears.

* * *

**Trojan Trinity, 18, District Two**

Names fly through my mind but as District One shows up in the screens I can't even begin to peg theirs. The girl is tiny and blonde with a big, ridiculous grin spread across her face from ear to ear while the boy is tall and lanky with a closed-lip smile. Both of them look absolutely insane dressed in tight silver suits that cover them from the neck down with only their hands exposed. To make it even more hilarious, neither of them even seems to realize how horrible they look.

Before they get too far out, I cup my hands around my and yell out before I can even think to stop myself. "Nice tights!" I scream and Blondie turns around to look at me, giving me a quizzical glance before her grin takes over again and she's back to nearly falling out of her chariot with enthusiasm.

Her partner, the one with green dyed hair, keeps one arm twisted protectively around her middle like he really believes that she might tumble over the side. With his free hand he waves and gestures t the crowds. Already the city is filled with chants of their names.

_Not for long_, I smirk to myself as my chariot rolls out behind them. Within seconds of our entrance, Lior and I's image is being broadcasted across every screen. Just as someone like me should, I keep my chin up and my mouth even, as if I don't even notice the people around me cheering their hearts out. Flowers and confetti in every imaginable color rain down on us and Lior makes a loud spitting sound as something lands on her mouth. I turn my head just slightly towards her as she goes back to her deadpan gaze and mechanic waving.

After a few cameras the cameras focused in on Lior and I begin to pan out to make room for the next chariot, preparing to showcase the pathetic arrival of District Three. My time to make the best first impression I can make is ending and I feel a dreadful sense of emptiness at the thought of the cameras leaving me. My eyes search around for some kind of idea and then, out of my peripheral vision, I see just that. A deep crimson flower flying straight towards us. For the next few seconds I pretend not to see it, merely moving my head around tiredly until it's nearly right beside my head. Then, in one fluid movement of arm and head, I snatch it out of the air and bring it daintily to my nose as if I simply wanted to smell it.

The crowd, of course, loves the entire thing and I gain at least another three seconds or so of camera time to wink and gaze charmingly towards the side where the flower came from. Before long, though, the camera has to move on and my handsome expression is replaced by two sets of widened eyes set against shimmering silver skin.

Yes, I guess it is possible for someone to look worse than District One because the two dwarves from Three are painted completely from head to toe in silver. For the most part they are exposed and, had they been a couple years older, probably would have been fully nude. However, twists and knots of colorful wires cut across the most vulnerable parts of them, all blinking in random sequence.

I realize I'm still holding the red flower when I feel sharp thorns bite into my fingertips. I ignore the slight discomfort, keeping the stem locked tightly in my hand. Tiny tendrils of blood drip down my fingers but my smirk only sets deeper into my face with the liquid. This is because I realize that even with blood and holes in my body, I will still always be the better candidate for Victor.

* * *

**Daire Ellis, 15, District Eight**

As our chariot slides through the stable doors I raise my hand automatically to wave and then lower it nearly just as quickly. No, I always think so very little of the tributes that cry or run away during the Reapings only to become all smiles and waves when the Capitol tells them to do so. I could never see how someone could have that much control over your actions. I cannot say that I have ever thought about what would happen should I be Reaped, since the possibility felt so far away it was in another lifetime than myself, but I think if I would have I would hope that I would not give in to what they wanted. How ridiculous of me to hate coming here by way of those people and yet do precisely what they want.

I can't make it that easy, no matter my feelings now. If I wave and smile and let them parade me around the place dressed in a suit that a ragdoll might wear than how can I think myself any better than them? I've always thought that the people who let peer pressure get to them are simply weak, and that if they just resisted a little bit they could overcome it.

Turns out it's not quite so easy.

My mind told me to resist the people that threw makeup on my face and lotions on my skin but my actions did quite the opposite. Why my limbs wouldn't move to push away their grabbing hands I don't know. Maybe it's because I can't do that to anyone. No matter what I always give in, even though my mind is strong and quick to say no, my head still tells them yes. People around me have nothing to say except that I am simply agreeable. A people-pleaser. They don't see the want and the tried courage that is trapped in my mind. No one sees that side of me, and no one asks either.

"Smile, you filth," Lillith hisses through gritted teeth and my lips curl up immediately in a toothless grin. "You're making me look bad."

"Sorry," I whisper, cursing my cowardice loudly in my head. "I didn't mean to"

"_Don't _talk to me," she says but the words look foolish in her mouth, enclosed by a wide smile and huge, hungry eyes.

I very nearly apologize again but stop myself a second before, the word dying on my lips and getting lost in the shouts and cheers from the crowds we pass. I urge my hand to return to my side once again and force the smile from my lips. I won't give in to the stupid pressure, not from Lillith and not from the Capitol and not from my Mentor and not from anybody. I won't, I can't, I won't live this life that I haven't chosen.I am my own person, so why is it so impossible for my body to react and show others the fact?

I stand stoically beside my district partner as she blows kisses into the audience surrounding us and laughs soundlessly as she makes attempts to catch the roses thrown our way. As she turns around to give the other side some attention she catches my eyes and gives me a look that tells me I had better follow her instructions from earlier. The hard glance barely lasts a second before her eyes return to the fun, happy-go-lucky girl the Capitol just seems to be eating up, with me standing right beside her waving and smiling like the fool I am.

* * *

**Tate Raveling, 14, District Ten**

Beside me I see the boy from District Nine cast me a sidelong look. I give him a face and he turns around almost instantly, but it's still pretty weird. I cross my arms in front of me but they almost immediately fall slip back down to my sides. Did I ever mention how much I hate this costume, because I do? A lot.

I don't see much logic behind it, other than that it makes both Vivian and I look ridiculous and I guess it gave them a use for all of their extra fabrics that were lying around. I am drenched in what I think is supposed to look like water but in reality is some kind of clear, sticky gel that covers me completely from the top of my head to the spaces between my toes. The rest of my costume is white, completely pure white and fluffy with little pink ears that poke out of my soaked hair. I think I'm supposed to be some sort of animal, a sheep I would guess of I had to. But the costume isn't supposed to be realistic, thank Panem for that. Instead it is just patches of fluff and the rest flat fabric, making me look as though I've been maimed as well as drenched in water.

Fortunately for her, Vivian is dressed in an old fashioned looking dress with a bonnet over her hair to match. Most of her outfit is also coated in the sticky gel, but the top of her is dry meaning that tonight she won't be trying to scrub this crap out of her ears. I remember the stylist explaining the whole vision to me earlier, but the basic idea is that I was supposed to be an animal that was drowning in a creek or something and Vivian is the pretty wife that waded up to her chest to save me. What a fair and equally beneficial costume for both of us, am I right?

To make myself feel better about the whole thing, I came up with my own concept. In it my district partner plays the stupid maiden that went too far into the water and I'm the zombie animal that had drowned hundreds of years earlier that is in the process of pushing her under. Personally I like that idea much better, but it's possible I'm just a tad bit biased.

By the time the last chariot pulls up to the courtyard in from of the big, white mansion, I can already see the President standing impatiently on his balcony. He throws a quick smile in our direction but I can see no real emotion before it. He begins to make his speech as soon as the last chariot is stopped, but all I can gather is the movement of his lips to decipher what he is saying.

Did I forget to mention that when I applied to be a tribute? I'm a deaf-mute as well and to their knowledge I won't understand a thing. I guess I could try and read his lips like I usually would, but the main thing stopping me from doing so is the fact that the back of the chariot in front of me is a whole lot more interesting.

* * *

**Estee Garnier, 16, District One**

"That was amazing!" I squeal as Micah gives me a hand down from the chariot. Naturally being District One we are the first ones off and walking towards the elevator a second later. Talus shoots to the ground after me, leaving Micah holding out his hand to help nothing. Talus tackle-hugs me from behind and I screech with laughter, only causing him to join me. It takes a careful arm to pull us apart, Adulia grabbing me away from Talus and Micah doing the same to him. My laughter only cuts off after the elevator doors slide closed behind us without Talus or Micah.

"Wait, Talus and Micah aren't with us!" I exclaim, my eyes grazing over the many buttons on the panel but my mind having no clue what any of them are for. "How do I make it wait?"

"Estee," I hear her say quietly behind me. When she notices that I have made no effort to turn around she grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around herself. "Listen to me, you and Talus can't be friends with the other tributes around. They'll see him as a weakness for you and vice versa."

"But we're district partners," I counter, my lip protruding out in a dramatic pout. "We're supposed to be friendly, right?"

"There's a difference," she sighs while giving me a sidelong glance. "You be just friendly enough to be around each other but any more than that could give people the wrong idea."

"We're just friends," I say in little more than a whisper, my posture curving and the fight in my voice all but gone. If she insists I not be that close with Talus than she must know what's best, right? He'll understand. At least I think he will.

A sharp _ding _echoes in the near silent space as we arrive at our floor, the closest one to the bottom of the building which is just as well. Who needs to go on a long journey just to get to their bedroom? Adulia and I step into the front room and she busies herself fiddling with the corner of a vase on the dining table as she lists out a complicated sounding drink for an Avox standing by. I decide to join her at the table, pulling out one of the oddly curved chairs to sit down. I motion quickly to the Avox that I will just have the same thing as Adulia and he nods before stepping over to some kind of machine and typing in our request.

We say nothing as we wait for the drinks to be ready, and by the time Micah and Talus reach our floor we are still seated on opposite sides of the table sipping a hot, bitter liquid from neat looking glasses. Talus gives me a half-hearted smile but doesn't sit down with us, moving right along to his bedroom door that closes with the _click _of a lock. I give a curious look to Micah but he says nothing and signals Adulia towards the viewing room. She abandons both her drink and myself at the table to follow him and I just remain in my seat, sipping my drink until an Avox clears away Adulia's mug and I decide it is probably time to go to bed now.

I tuck myself into the bed that is big enough to probably sleep all four of us at once with room in between, and pull the covers up to my neck. Still, though, I feel cold, but maybe that's just loneliness. Not knowing what else to do I close my eyes and allow the still lit lights to seep into my dreams. Even my sleep is empty, though, and I can't help but look forward to the next day when I can be surrounded by people again. I've never been one to be alone for so long.

* * *

**Iora Winsil, 15, District Eleven**

The elevator doors slide open all too quickly ad Kanyon and I step out onto the mats with visible caution. Following an unspoken agreement we continue towards where the rest of the tributes stand together. His brows furrow as he takes a glance around at the other tributes. Officially, yesterday was the first time that we would see each other apart from on television. Now, though, standing just a few feet away from us they feel so much more real than they did all dressed up last night. More intimidating now as well.

District Two's female arrives almost immediately after us with a bored looking expression on her face. She notices her district partner motioning her over with an annoyed look that would terrify anyone else, but she takes her time sulking over. By the time she gets to the group he is all but fuming, though she doesn't seem to notice or care. I admire the attitude, but getting on his bad side isn't exactly on my list of things to do so I'll skip that part of training. The kid's huge, and not just in height but in muscles as well. I'm willing to bet that he could snap his partner in half with ease. If I was her I would be careful, but she would never ask my advice so.

"Tribute, gather around," a tall man with spiked hair whom I did not notice until he spoke motions us swiftly towards him. Like a flock of sheep, the four Careers zip over to him and take a place in the form of the semi-circle. The rest of us end up in a surrounding line, barring the girl from Ten and the two Capitol tributes who also take spots in the front.

"Today will be the first of your three days of training. In case any of you were wondering, it is mandatory attendance and we have guards standing by to keep it that way," he says waving a hand over towards the doorways where, sure enough, Peacekeepers stand guard with shock-sticks at the ready. No one even has to tell most of us what the weapons are, either you're form a Career district and study them, or you gain the knowledge by... less desirable methods. "Today you will all have the choice of which stations you spend your time at. Tomorrow will be the same for the morning session, and after lunch you will take part in mandatory training exercises. The third and final day will be your time to spend as you choose. You may begin."

The Careers push past the rest of us in a frantic run to get to the weaponry stations where they assemble again and the boy from Two takes obvious leadership. Everyone else takes a bit longer to disperse, and their steps aren't near as certain. Within a few minutes I realize that I am one of two people still standing in my original place, along with the District Six girl. Even Kanyon seems to find the climbing station easily enough.

"Hey!" The girl calls before I can turn around and just the sound of her voice makes me wince. I have no choice but to stop and wait for her as she sprints the few steps to me, not unless I feel like making enemies less than a minute into training. She's red faced and smiling like an idiot by the time she reaches me and she just stares at me like that for a good thirty seconds before shaking her head dramatically and holding out her hand to me. "I'm Leila."

* * *

**Trace Conduit, 13, District Three**

I watch Adira scamper between stations trying to find one to fit her interests and the overwhelming urge to join her nearly becomes impossible to resist. I have to remember what Oberon told us last night, we can't be allies. She seemed somewhat disheartened but got over it quickly, whereas I was devastated. Meeting her on the train was the best thing that could have happened to me after being Reaped. She was a lot like me, though much quieter which suited me just fine. It was nice to have someone listen to me. It was nice just to have someone to talk to that understood my feelings at all. Hearing that being allied with each other would be a bad plan due to our ages and strengths was horrible. I have to respect that she wants to listen to Oberon, though. He made valid points I guess.

My eyes follow her for a little longer until I finally lose her somewhere near the edge of the weapons stations. I decide it's probably time for me to choose a station, but that proves much more difficult than it probably sounds. There must be dozens of them, from rope making to poison plants to safe water, and I have not a clue which I should begin with. Maybe if I had known it would be this huge of a place I could have asked Oberon about it, though I'm not even sure he would help me. I have discovered that if he doesn't like the question you ask, there is no way to get an answer out of him. This has made him almost as much a hindrance as he has been a help. Almost more frustration than I can bear right now.

My eyes nearly light up when I spot the climbing cave placed in the farthest corner of the Training Center, across from an area that is blocked off with heavy walls. I prance over to the cave, at the mouth of which stands a bored looking trainer. As is polite, when he gives me the little spiel about how the station works, I listen attentively. In reality I know I won't remember any of this in about three seconds, and maybe later I'll try that station over there. It looks kind of cool.

I realize that the trainer has stopped talking when my eyes wander back to him and he is giving me an odd look. I smile shyly and press past him into the entrance of the dim area. As soon as I am inside it's like a miniature house, except with rocks and holds in the walls instead of furniture. I can see that there are several rooms, but none of them have roofs so it gives the appearance of more of a maze than a cave I guess. I walk through the first room eagerly, searching for a smaller room that I can use to get away from the distractions. There are so many here, so many sounds and sights that I find it even more difficult to concentrate than it was back in District Three. Not a great thing, especially when the whole point of my training is to remember the stuff they teach us.

As soon as I enter the next room I hear an audible suppression of laughter and step in further to see two other boys already crouched inside the smaller room, both shaking their heads and looking at me with half-cracked smiles. "Another one?" The older one chuckles.

I burst into laughter, though even I'm not entirely certain why. The older one motions for me to have a seat if I wish to and I take the invitation readily. "I'm Trace," I say feeling it only polite to introduce myself. The older boy nods but the younger one just looks at me a bit more intensely. When he doesn't break his gaze on me I feel like I'm obligated to ask.

"Oh, I think he's reading your lips," he says. Inadvertently touching his fingers to his ear and then to his mouth. "I think he was telling me he's deaf-mute."

"Yeah that's the signal for it, I believe," I respond. The younger one still looks at me quizzically and I think quickly, feeling bad for the boy not being able to understand me. So, nice and slowly, I draw the letters in the air in front of me, T-R-A-C-E. His lips curl up in a smile and he does the same for me, spelling out the letters a bit quicker than I did but still slow enough that I get the name. Tate.

* * *

**Verlynna Feddarys, 17, District Nine**

I busy myself by fiddling with two pieces of wood, trying to stack them like the trainer showed me but the balance not staying like it did with his. After the third or fourth try I roll my eyes and turn around, inadvertently catching two of the other tributes staring at me before they look away far too quickly for it to be just a coincidence. My cheeks heat up and I turn back around, attempting to make myself concentrate back on the wood and the fire that I have to make sooner or later.

Just as I'm about to let go again, a voice that is much closer than I expected rings in my ear and the wood falls from my grip. I huff and turn around again, only to see one of the two girls still staring at me. The girl from Five judging by the embroidery of her uniform, with the girl from Ten beside her trying out some simple knot traps. Five keeps my gaze when I look at her, and I shy away within seconds. I can feel the heat travelling throughout my body. It's not often that I'm stared at like this, and not for so long. Why don't they just move on? I don't need any more intimidation for today.

"Pretty, but what could she do? Nothing but a wallflower if you ask me."

"Excuse me?"

As soon as the words come out of my mouth I want to clamp my hand across my lips and take them back. Judging by the look the other two girls give me it's already clear they heard me. Not knowing what else to do I hold Five's eyes as she looks me over. Probably determining whether she could take me should she attack me. It would be idiotic to try, but I won't make the mistake of underestimating anyone here. Everyone and everything from the moment I was Reaped can hurt me, I can't let myself forget that. Even the Peacekeepers standing by don't ease my paranoia. What help could they be if there's already a knife in my head or an arrow in my throat?

My breaths feel heavy when finally, with her friend in tow, Five makes her way towards me. I consider for a moment getting up and running off to another station and just hope that they don't follow me there, but by the time I think to set the plan in motion they're already standing over me with poignant stares.

"Did you ask me something?" She asks, nothing but blank curiosity in her voice. I nearly sigh out of relief that she isn't here to try and hurt me or even intimidate me it seems. My eyes still feel too big for my head as I stare up at her without the slightest clue of what to say to her. I shake my head quickly and she smiles back to District Ten who gives a half-smirk in reply. Despite my overwhelming want to crawl away and go somewhere, anywhere, else, I stand up shakily to my full height. I'm just an inch shy of being her height and she looks surprised to say the least. In reality, though, no one is more surprised than I am. I've never been one to say anything to anyone without absolute need. Maybe being here somehow makes me different. If so, maybe it's not so bad.

"Careful, Wallflower, don't want to tire your pretty self out do you?"

"Why do you call me that?" I say, ignoring the implementations of the rest of her comment. It's not that I don't care, but I want her to think I don't. That's the one thing that always was told to me by anyone that cared enough to say anything at all. That I'm beautiful and they're jealous and I should just ignore them no matter the circumstances.

"What, Wallfower?" She asks, her eyebrows furrowing deep into her forehead in confusions. When I nod carefully she continues. "You're obviously no good at knots, or anything else I've seen you try, but you're pretty. That's what a wallflower is."

I have nothing to say to that statement, and my cheeks heat up because of that. It's true what she says, nothing I've tried so far in this place has worked. I can't exactly be mad at her for saying it if she's right, and technically it's a half-compliment. Then, something occurs to me. "You've been watching me, why?"

She's taken aback by this, I can tell. "Was wondering if you needed an alliance, we're looking for someone else."

"But," I say, the confusion probably clear as day on my face. "Why me if-if you think I'm no good at anything."

Her voice drops as she says the next few words, as if she only wants me to hear them and no one else. "Because I can see that you want to survive, and we'll help you if you'll do the same."

* * *

**Rosario Saturn, 18, Capitol**

"Hey you, Carrottop!" I hear someone say behind me and I swivel around with my knives still gripped in my hands. I see a boy about an inch or two shorter than I, with a spear held close to his side. Beside him are a blonde girl and Revela. Revela looks at me with rolling eyes, clearly not impressed by something. I can't be sure what it is this time, she always seems pissed at something. I don't know why she doesn't just lighten up and have a little time. Especially when for most of us time isn't something there's a whole lot of. Might as well make the most of it, if you don't have a good time doing what you're doing than why do you bother to do it at all?

That's why I chose weapons, to have a little fun before the seriousness takes over. I figured by the end of the day the Careers would have preyed upon both Revela and I, we're obvious choices for the alliance. Since the Careers first restarted, they always take on at least one more tribute for their group, though for the most part they take two. Who else could they possibly want? No one compares, if you ask my mentor at least.

"Can I help you?"

"I asked your partner here and she said she never talked to you about joining the Pack this year. Since you both seems capable enough by the looks of it, there's a space for each of you," The boy says and my eyes fly to the embroidered number on his sleeve that marks him as District Two.

"Of course, it would be great if you would accept us both," I say kindly, putting on a light smile and reaching out to shake his hand. It's only when two leaps back that I notice that I'm still holding huge butchering knives in each hand. I laugh to myself and Two joins me nervously after a minute or two.

"Today's free day, train in weapons and keep your eyes peeled for threats," Two instructs me. "If you notice anything tell everyone, the other two are over at far stations but I'm sure you'll recognize them. Lior and Talus. This is Estee, and I'm Trojan. Don't waste time and get back to work."

"Of course," I say pleasantly and turn back around to face the fresh dummies that are being rolled up through the floor. Good, I needed new targets, the last pair were looking a little rough and it's always good to fight the new things the Capitol comes up with. They make the greatest things.

I turn to press the reset button for the dummies, so that they will fight back and try and disarm me like last time. I think this time around I will try out a higher setting. Possibly two notches above last time, but I'm not sure. It's no fun if you're working too hard, no one likes to sweat especially not me. When I turn around, though, I notice that Revela is still watching me even though the other two have long gone. I raise an eyebrow at her and she glares openly at me, hissing something about not messing this up for her before stalking away. I might have told her unbecoming it is to hunch her shoulders like that, if she didn't already seem so peeved.

Oh well, I guess not everyone knows how to have fun in this kind of situation like I do. If only everyone would realize that you can get through anything if you just remove your doubts. If you doubt that you can scar and hurt, than you won't be able to. If you let go of that, well, then you have a whole new perspective.

* * *

**Cosette Davonport, 17, District Four**

"What's the matter, Four? Did your district forget how to train again?" I hear the boy from One yell across the room even though I do my best to cut the words out of my mind. It has been like this since Markus and I stepped foot in the training room. High jabs at our district, insults because of a decision that was made during the Mockingjay Rebellion to destroy the Training Academy and never rebuild it. I understand the decision and respect it more than anyone could know, but it makes life hard in here. Where, if I had been here fifty years earlier I would have been one of those trained jerks throwing verbal punches at the other tributes.

"This is ridiculous," I hear a voice from behind me say and I turn around to see Markus standing beside me with jaw open and eyes downcast. I forgot how weird and hurtful this must be for him. I know who he is, what he comes from, I mean who in school in my district doesn't? Him and his friends are probably the most popular and well-liked kids around, not exactly a group you can ignore very well. I would bet that he has never heard people saying things like this directly to him before in his life. That's not the way it's done with people in his circle. If you're going to make a jab at someone, you'll never ever say it to their face. Clearly this isn't the case here.

"Just ignore them, I mean what can they really do?" I say, doing my best not to take my eyes off the tip of the arrow nestled carefully into my bow. Most tributes from districts other than Career districts tend to steer clear of the weapons stations so as not to become the next center of their attention, but seeing as it doesn't matter where I am in their eyes I decided early on that I would try and get some weapon training in. Markus had the opposite idea, opting to hide out at the stations furthest away. Though I can tell now that it did him little good.

He sighs and walks off again, leaving me to concentrate on my arrows. I've been switching between this station and the knife ones, having decent luck thus far at the knifing but only hitting one target since this morning. I pull back the string and hold my breath, just like the instructor showed me I exhale as I release the string and it snaps back against my arm. I cry out and the arrow flies up to the ceiling when my hand flinches. I curse loudly and throw down the bow, I'll never get the hang of the thing at this point.

"Here," a soft voice from behind me makes me jump as someone reaches down beside me for my bow. I flinch up to see a curtain of bright red hair covering a girl's face. When she has the bow in her grasp she looks up and smiles at me I recognize her as the District Seven female. "Like this, I'll show you."

And that's how the rest of the day passes, the District Seven girl, or Ave as she tells me later, helps me with archery until even she tells me that I'm not getting much better. We walk through stations, sometimes staying and sometimes leaving if we think it's too difficult or too easy or simply too useless to us. We spend some time at the knifing station and it makes me feel better to realize that Ave is just as useless there as I was with archery. I think the most significant thing we did all day, though, was talk. It turns out that we have a lot more in common than I had thought. Maybe that's what made me scared about allying with her.

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** Simple Plan.**_

**Song: **_**Crash and Burn**_

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**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. **

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Which of these twelve stood out to you the most?**_

_**Favourite POVs?**_

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**Only a day late, wow I am pretty good. Next week will be late because I am going away, expect two weeks from now to be the next chapter but I will do my best as always. **

**I have had some difficulties pertaining to an author not giving me the form for their character, nor giving me any indication of when they would do so. Therefore I would just like to let all of you know that Estee Garnier had to be created by another submitter that I asked to do this for me. I want to say a huge thank you to this author, it was a great help. Also, just thought I should give you all some idea of what is going on in case Estee does not fit perfectly into what was put on the blog.**

**For those of you that don't know, I write four Capitol chapters with twelve character POVs in each one. These were the first twelve and the next twelve will have a POV next chapter, then we will go back and start again with the first group, than the second group for the last one. That means that the Games will start four chapters from now. **


	5. Pretending

**Holding On by Simple Plan**

_Here we are pretending we're ok  
You can say what you want but you still can't fool me._

* * *

**Vivian Mayhall, 16, District Ten**

I walk in alone today, not quite as nervous as I was yesterday when I decided to walk down with Tate. He was running late today anyway, probably sleeping in, not that I stuck around long to find out. As the elevator doors slide open to the tributes, trainers, and Peacekeepers that stand to greet me, I am surprised to find myself walking in with confidence. Sure, there are a lot of tributes here that are bigger and older than me, but I have already pinpointed the ones that I need to look out for, and believe me when I say that they are the minority.

I spot Verlynna already cowered in the corner of the center and I walk over without a second thought to join her in waiting for the opening bell. The other tributes arrive soon after I did and I am able to observe the different alliances that have already formed. Tate finally walks in a few minutes before the bell and heads straight over to trio of younger boys who joke and laugh nervously near Verlynna and I. The look makes me smile, I'm glad he's found people like him in this place. It will be good for him to be comfortable and enjoy his last few days.

Why am I thinking that?

I shake my head in shock at myself when I hear Insi calling from one side of the room. "Hey there, Viv', Wallflower."

I note the way Verlynna seems to slouch further into the wall at her arrival. It's pretty obvious that the nickname bothers her in some kind of way I can't understand, but who am I to say anything? If it bugs her that much she could say something. I'm not going to be the one to cause tension, especially not with Insi. No matter that we're supposed to be allies and I guess somewhat friends, I can sense something off about her and until I figure out what exactly that is I'm definitely going to keep on my toes.

The opening bell rings out and everyone disperses from the center of the room to head over to the various stations. Insi points over to the weapons range and both of us nod. Yesterday we spent most of our time between the survival stations. I guess today's as good a day as any to face the weapons. It's not like the skill is likely to go to waste where we're headed.

As we near the range, Insi holds up a hand to stop us and veers over towards the specialty weapons. No doubt to grab the strange sword-like thing that she described to me in detail yesterday. Just the mental image of the thing gives me the creeps, but at least she knows what she wants and apparently how to use it. It seems that today I will be starting from scratch in this particular area. I can't honestly say I've had any sort of contact with weapons in the memorable past.

"Your hair is really pretty," I hear Verlynna whisper to me as Insi heads off to get in line behind the District Two girl.

I'm taken aback by the compliment, not because I'm unused to getting compliments on my hair because in reality I am. Really, that's the only thing people seem to love about my appearance. My best feature, most would say. I mumble a thank you and she smiles knowingly, thinking me humble like many would. In reality, though, the less people know the better.

* * *

**Revela Iva, 16, Capitol**

While the rest of the tributes concentrate on their own training I do the exact opposite. There is no clear leadership yet amongst the Career Pack, but I know how precarious my position is in the pack and I plan on securing it in any way I can. Trojan's little mission for me to observe the others for any kind of threats or things like that was just perfect for me. He seems to think it's pointless for me to train, not because I'm as good as I know I am, but because to him I'm nothing more than a senseless volunteer. That's just fine with him thinking that for now, so long as it doesn't hinder my place in the alliance. I don't particularly want to be part of any sort of group with the filthy district people, but at the very least these are the wealthier and cleaner of the mix. I guess I can stand to be with them for a bit longer.

I smile extra sweetly as the trainer gabs on and on about whatever the station is supposed to be training me how to do. In reality I have not heard a word he has said, I'm only here because of the strong-looking boy that stares half-interestedly at an array of leaves. One look at his sleeve marks him as from District Nine and I analyze him out of my peripheral vision while the trainer talks on.

"Thanks so much for your help, I think I've got it from here," I grin, putting up a hand to stop the woman midsentence. I can't waste any more of my time standing with this lady talking my ear off if I plan on having anything to report on by lunch. Today's a stupid day because only half of it is free time like yesterday. After lunch we have some activity that is supposed to help us prepare for the arena but I'd pass if I had the choice. I don't need to learn anything to protect myself, that's why I got myself into the pack. They'll do all the protecting, all I have to do is stab the right place when I get the chance. I'm not stupid enough to think I'm invincible, that's what the brainwashed Careers are for.

I go and sit at the tray beside Nine and he looks up at me for a second before scooting over to the far side of his chair. I guess it's already evident that I'm with the Careers and he knows to fear me, either that or he is just equally paranoid about everyone. Either way, smart boy. I hold up a light green leaf with a pointed tip and hold it inches from his nose. "Hey, do you know what this one is?"

He shakes his head and continues with his tray. I try for another few minutes to catch his eye but he won't have it. After that I get frustrated and move on, if he isn't willing to be cooperative I can just mark him as a threat. It's not like the other Careers are observant enough to correct me on that anyway.

I look around at the rest of the tributes, at first no one really catching my gaze. The tiny girl from Three walking around with the boy from Eight, four of the younger boys hanging around near the fire-building station, and the redhead from Seven trying to show Cosette from Four how to shoot an arrow, helplessly I might add. Then my eyes glance towards one station I had barely even noticed. Some sort of matching game with little pictures disappearing in pairs so quickly I can barely keep up, and standing in front with a bored expression and fingers flying is the boy from Five.

Hm, interesting.

* * *

**Adira Cipher, 12, District Three**

"Where are we going now?"

"I-I thought we could go to the fire station again, it was more fun there don't you t-think so?" I ask as I stop in my tracks and turn to face my new ally. He's almost half a foot taller than me but his eyes are kind and I think that's why he let me go around with him. When I saw him all by himself he reminded me so much of Seven, and I need him but at least Daire is close enough. Maybe him accepting my offer of an alliance shows that he needs me too? I hope so, it would be nice to be depended on again.

"We need weapons, we need to learn how to protect ourselves or we'll die real fast. All you want to do is prepare for things that won't matter if we die first, that's stupid to do, Adira," he snaps at me and almost a second later a flash of realization of what he's just said comes over his face. I only see a second of it, though, because I cover my face in my hands to keep the tears in and run to where I remember the climbing caves to be, nearly knocking over the girl from Eight as I run. I don't wait to see her reaction, though, I just run until I smack my knee off of the entrance to the caves.

Sobs claw at the back of my throat as I crawl into one of the lower entrances and into a huge cavern. I curl myself into a dipped corner and hug my knees to my chest, allowing myself long, slow breaths to try and calm down. I've never been this emotional, why did it bother me so much when he snapped at me? It's not like I've not been spoken to like that before. It's how Mother would make sure I was listening to her when I didn't look like I was paying my full attention. Am I really breaking down already, when the Games haven't even begun yet?

_No, it's because he is Seven. _

And I know it's true, because that's why I wanted him to ally with me, wasn't it. He's my best friend, or at least an imitation of the one I love like a brother whom I left back in District Three. Seven would never think of snapping at me even when he is angry. That's why it upset me, because in my mind it was like my best friend telling me I'm stupid. I can't get upset, I _can't. _I have to remember that Daire is not Seven and that he won't act just like him. When he snaps at me, I'll pretend he is Mother giving me directions. Then it can't bother me because that is familiar and okay.

A grunting noise interrupts me from my thoughts and my head turns towards the small entrance from which I had come. After a few moments a strained looking Daire squeezes through the tiny hole and his face lights up when he spots me still curled up in the corner. Without stopping for a second he is walking towards me and I force my lips up in a small smile. Now he is Seven, not Mother. The kind eyes betray that.

* * *

**Markus Ronaldo, 16, District Four**

When they ring the bell to announce lunch, I can't help but think that it's not soon enough. Training has not been working for me at all for the past two days. No one wants to even be near me except the Career tributes, and even then they only want to taunt my district and my chances. Delta told Cosette and I that the Career tributes are brutal by instructions of their mentors towards District Four because we used to be a Career district but refused to reinstate training after the Rebellion. That doesn't make it any easier to swallow, though. It's not in me to be the victim; the outsider of the popular group that is picked on and tormented. I don't want to say I'm normally the tormentor, but it's true... or at least partially true.

The red-outfitted people give me a tray of delicious looking food and send me on my way. I step out of line and look around the lunch room for a place to sit. Automatically my eyes are drawn to the largest group and my legs begin moving towards that table without a second thought given. Just seconds away from sitting down, a hand clamps down hard on my shoulder and guides me away from them.

"What are you doing, are you insane?" The voice attached to the hand hisses as she leads me towards a less crowded table near the back of the room. I turn around to stare back at where I was about to sit and it is then that I realize I had been only moments away from sitting down next to the Careers. The girl's right to ask if I'm insane, they probably would have killed me or worse. I guess I'm just used to sitting where I'm used to sitting. It's hard to get used to the idea that I'm no longer the center of fun wherever I am, no matter how much I guess I need to realize this.

"Sorry, I guess I'm not thinking," I say lamely. She sits down at the back table beside a tall girl with red lips and a darker skinned girl who have already started eating. It takes me a minute of trying to remember their names before I remember to check their sleeves for their districts. Red-lips is from Five, dark-skin from Ten, and the girl to help me out is from Nine.

"Who's that?" Five asks Nine bluntly without even looking up from her soup. Nine shrugs but says nothing, only shrinking into the bench and turning her head down towards her own meal.

"Oh, I'm Markus," I say after a second.

They don't say anything more and I decide to take their silence as an invitation to sit down. My eyes wander around to the other tables where I can see alliances forming, all as far away from each other as physically possible. In the opposite corner from my table I can see the pair from Six talking nervously with the girl from Eleven, and two tables up from them are the boys from Three, Seven, Ten, and Eleven. A sudden thought flashes across my mind; I'm one of the only ones left without an alliance, or am I? Was the invitation to sit with them really an invitation to join their alliance? I guess there's only one way to find out, isn't there?

"Does this mean I can be in your alliance?"

All at once their three heads bob up from their lunches to face me. After a second of this they turn to look at each other and I can see the silent conversation developing between them. Nine pleads with her eyes as Ten and Five cast me suspicious glances. I do my best to smile and act as if I have no idea what they are doing, and I assume it pays off because within a few moments Five turns to me with a half-smile. "Okay, you're in for now."

* * *

**Talus Vixent, 17, District One**

"Okay, Revela, what did you find out that you were so eager to tell me before?" Trojan says when Estee finally takes her place beside Rosario at the opposite end of the table. I can't help the hurt that pangs inside of me that she didn't sit in the empty spot beside me, but I really can't put the blame on her I guess. Micah made it clear after the Tribute Parade that he thought we were getting too close not to raise suspicion within our alliance. I can only assume the talk was premeditated and that Adulia gave the same one to Estee that night. No matter what it still sucks, though.

I'm not even sure what it was that brought us so close. Sure she had been in the Training Center with me every other year when our age divisions were the same, but even then I can't claim that we were as inseparable as we seemed to be getting. Now that I think about it I can't believe I didn't go after her when I had the chance, we're so alike. Both of us more enthusiastic than the run of the mill Career tribute with mischievous hearts and kind souls. It's too late for regrets of what could have been, though. We're both here now and Micah is right, only one of us can come out of here. I can't let a little infatuation squash my chances.

Maybe it is better that she get herself as far as possible away from me and I do the same for her, even if it hurts a little.

Revela huffs beside me and places her fork back down on her tray. She moves in closer to the group as if about to share the latest gossip about the popular kids at Training, an indistinguishable smirk forming on her lips. "Good news is, I can count on one hand how many tributes I think will pose a problem for us."

"You said you had something interesting," Trojan growls obviously losing patience with the Capitol tribute.

"I'm getting to that," Revela mutters under her breath before continuing. I smirk slightly at her arrogance, maybe this alliance will be more interesting than I thought. So far it seems that she is the only one with the guts to say anything against our fearless leader. Still not sure if that makes her an interesting source of entertainment for those lazy arena days, or a dead-girl walking. "The boy from Five-"

The laughter is loud and immediate at the mere suggestion of the tiny, pathetic excuse of a tribute. Sure, he wasn't the most ridiculous display at the Reapings, but he is far from anything we need to be worried about. Revela looks notably peeved, and by the time the laughter has died down she is all but fuming. With a new tension in her voice she continues. "I watched him during training, he's a tech. Not just that but a good one; I watched him build a bomb in minutes and defuse it in half that time. He could pose a problem if we consider his abilities... laughable."

While her words sink in it is silent, I look immediately to Trojan to see that even he is speechless. I guess we all come from the same line of thinking, that we need to search out the physical threats and destroy them indefinitely. Is it possible that we've been leaving ourselves vulnerable for the possibility of a Victor from an outer district shaming us in defeat?

"I want him in," Trojan says finally, though even he doesn't seem too sure of his words. Of course it does happen from time to time that someone without Career capabilities ends up in the Pack, but those were rare even before the Rebellion. There's another problem with accepting a new member, and that is that the alliance never has more than six people. It's basically a rule of thumb by now. Trojan must have had a similar revelation because he says more. "But that means someone else is out."

* * *

**Lillith Tavern, 18, District Eight**

All of us stream out of the lunchroom in a thick bulge, I'm careful to avoid the young kids who would be of no use to me during the Games and instead search for the ones I've had my eyes on since watching the Reapings on the train. The Career boys, specifically One and Two but I've also swallowed my pride to pay redhead from the Capitol a bit of attention. He isn't exactly the prettiest thing on the menu, but in all my years I've come to understand just how useful those ugly patrons can be. Most of them are rich anyway, and I'm sure the same applies to Carrot-Top. Even after the Rebellion accusingly evened the field for the Capitol citizens, they are still so obviously above any of the districts financially. If my visit here wasn't enough to prove that than one must only look to the records of the Capitol tributes from previous years. Almost without fail, they receive countless gifts from sponsors f it becomes clear that they have the slightest chance at becoming Victor. And by that I mean as long as they aren't some scrawny, pathetic munchkin of a thing.

Regardless of my preferences, getting in with any of the Career boys I know will benefit me in the long run. Lust makes boys act like indecisive little kids, all I need is those couple seconds of hesitation before they're about to kill me and I can get away. As long as I make the right impression, I can most certainly squirm my way up the ranks an win this whole thing. I wouldn't mind getting up to one of those boys either. Think what you will of me, but I'm still just a girl and I have needs too. Perhaps in those ways we can help each other out.

"Tributes," a short man with a scraggly, violet beard addresses the group of us once we have all exited the lunchroom. "Welcome to the Kill-Zone."

He smiles slyly when he notices the confused look on all of our faces. "This is a new technology that researchers from the Capitol as well as other districts have perfected in the duration of the reinstated Hunger Games. Our first version was used in training the first tributes for the Seventy-Seventh Hunger Games and it has developed even further over the years."

"In short, all of you will be outfitted in a specially designed and calibrated outfit that contains several dozen sensors that will respond to being hit by our specially made weapons," he tells us as several Avoxes and trainers enter carrying black outfits for each of us. They hand them out and press a sequence of keys once they have helped us into it, presumably to activate it or something. "The use of your hands or other extremities is strictly prohibited during the exercise. None of the weapons are designed to cause pain above bruising, though you will receive a slight shock on impact before that area will freeze. Any hits to the chest, neck, head, or abdomen is considered an automatic kill and will result in complete incapacitation of said tribute. Once you have been killed you will be dragged to the nearest wall by your suit and frozen in place."

The nerves about the whole activity are evident but no one says anything and the man continues. "You will be sent inside in groups which have been chosen at random. Before entering you are permitted to choose a weapon from the rack behind me and you will have one minute before the next group will be called in until everyone has entered. Once all but one of you have been incapacitated, the exercise will end and you will be able to see your scores on the screen to my right. Any questions?"

It is silent as we all attempt to process all the instructions that have just been given. He takes our quietness as understanding and smiles over us. "Perfect, now let us begin."

* * *

**Ave Chassing, 17, District Seven**

The short man looks way too entertained by this, but I can't really say that I had expected any different from someone like him. He is quite obviously not one of the extremists from the Capitol that are against the Hunger Games, so why should he dread this little practice round? I'm sure it's positively exciting for him to be able to see a little sneak peek of how well we do in a mock-arena setting. I can't say I share his enthusiasm.

"Alright then, group one will be the following; please come forward and choose your weapon and immediately enter through one of four doors to my left when your name is called. Trojan from District Two, Adira from District Three, Kanyon from District Eleven, Revela from the Capitol, Estee from District One, and Blaise from District Five," the man begins with the first few names and I can't decide whether to be joyous or disappointed not to hear my name called in the first group. On the one hand I won't have to be in there for as long as the other will and that means less time for the others to kill me. But on the other hand they have the advantage of surprising me at the doorway should they think of that strategy. Really it's a tossup. I just hope I'm not in the last group, I don't feel like running right into a battle zone where I have no idea where anything is but everyone else has already gotten their bearings. No thank you.

_Ping!_

Everyone snaps out of their thoughts at the sudden noise and by the confusion on everyone's faces it's pretty obvious no one knows where the sound has come from. The short man still standing at the front of the room laughs, the sound like something coming from a childhood nightmare's witch or demon. He looks at us quizzically before pointing up to the screen that is no longer simply numbers. The first name and picture is already right there in plain view, filling up the slot marked with the number twenty-four. I don't even need the name or district, the blonde head and dazzling smile gives away the District One female. "It seems we have had our first fatality already."

A death, already? It feels like I only just saw the tiny girl run into the mock-arena seconds ago. Is that really how fast this is going to all happen in the real arena? Then, though, it won't be the District One girl, she has her allies and status to protect her, but maybe someone like me. Is it really possible that I could be dead within seconds of the Games beginning? The thought makes shivers run up my spine.

"Now, group two it's your turn!" He announces and a pit of dread opens up in my stomach. "Will the following tributes please enter the Kill-Zone; Iora from District Eleven, Markus from District Four, Tate from District Ten, Verlynna from District Nine, Daire from District Eight, and Ave from District Seven."

As soon as I hear my name called I run up to the rack to grab a weapon, most of what is left are things that look like knives and swords, but I spot a bow with a set of three arrows and grab that immediately. Without a look back at the rest of my group who still have yet to choose a weapon, I am off and inside the Kill-Zone.

It's darker than I had expected in here, with little blue and red lights flashing on what I presume to be the far walls. There are crates and half-walls everywhere and I can see feel the presence of others in the room. Before I'm quite in I nearly run into another tribute, but stop myself inches from her and I realize she doesn't even seem to have noticed me. Refusing to waste one of my three precious arrows I heave the bow beside head and bring it across her chest and neck. She lets out a tiny gasp before her suit kicks in and drags her towards the nearest wall. With the blinkers lighting up her face I finally recognize her, the District Eleven girl. She winces in slight pain but I choose to ignore it, making a conscious decision to slip along the walls and get as far away from the new arrivals as possible.

* * *

**Daesel Winston, 15, District Six**

It takes me a few seconds after hearing my name to react, and I only do eventually when the District Three boy all but runs me over as he rushes to the depleting weapons rack. It feels like I have been waiting outside for ages with only the sound of breathing and death beeps to occupy my mind. Before group three was announced there was already six deaths and within seconds of the first few people from three entering there were already three more pings to be heard. I'm guessing someone's getting them as they enter and I hope that I won't be next. Once I grab a long sword form the rack, just to be safe, I enter through the furthest door that no one has really used yet.

There's only one other person still choosing their weapon by the time I get into the mock-arena, but regardless I can see the action unfolding perfectly from where I entered. Thankfully I chose the right door because it looks to be a little longer of a tunnel than the others, which means I am let out near the back of the room whereas most of the threatening tributes are focused on the tributes coming in from the front. I don't hear any more death pings, but that just might be the fact that I am no longer outside of the area.

I creep along the sides, where tributes upon tribute have been pulled by their suits after they were killed. Most of them look fine, though a few seem to be severely uncomfortable. I step over the District One girl who had died first and resist the urge to stick my tongue out at her. She is, after all, a Career tribute and just going by that she should certainly be going further than last place. Her eyes, however, don't look defeated as I pass over her. On the contrary, they are alight with an adventurous gleam and when I put my finger to my lips to signal her silence she giggles softly and nods enthusiastically.

I hear call between the Careers and it takes me a moment to realize that they're letting everyone know that the next group is about to come in. I hadn't noticed that t had been that long already, but just like everyone else I turn my head towards the door to watch the new arrivals. My heart leaps when I see Leila run through the door with a tiny dagger in her grip. I all but run through everyone else to get to her, but I return to my strategy of slipping along the walls towards her.

My throat goes tight when I see the scene folding out before me, much too far away for me to do anything to stop it. The District Two male turns and uses the long-handled axe to swipe a semi-circle against Leila's chest. A cry is muffled in my hand and it takes me a second to calm down and remember that this is only a practise and that none of it is real. No matter how real it looks with his axe and her falling to the ground immobile, it's not.

Despite my best attempts to stop myself, I find my feet running to where Leila's attacker still stands with his back to her retreating form. I swing out my sword as I approach and before I can take it back it hits off of the back of the District Three boy. His lips form a surprised sphere before his suit takes over and he is flying towards the nearest wall.

"Nice try, Six," Two smirks before turning and using the same axe he used on Leila on me. It's a weird kind of feeling, not necessarily painful but definitely uncomfortable, when he hits me and then my whole body goes numb and I feel myself flailing towards the floor, presumably not lucky enough for my suit to have picked a spot out of the way.

* * *

**Lior Montserrat, 16, District Two**

I nearly trip over the newly fallen tribute in my pursuit, all the others forgotten and my eyes and mind solely focused on this one target that seems to be playing with me. My group was the last to enter the Kill-Zone, to my disappointment, but at least my status as Career seemed to stop most attackers from going after me. I still feel the embarrassment of Estee for being the first fatality, but hey at least it wasn't me. She probably just got mistaken for one of the younger tributes and Trojan used that handsome axe on her pretty little head.

Stupid last group, making me miss everything. Now I'm just making up for lost time, this is the most fun I have had since I volunteered. Everything else has been so dull.

Revela turns off into some odd corner of the mini arena and there's no one in there. Well almost no one, there sitting with furrowed brows and open lips is the boy from Seven. Revela passes over him and I laugh, just wait until Trojan and the others hear how easily she left a kill. It's just as I suspected, she's not a Career as far as I can throw her, which isn't far. As I pass Seven by I knock him upside the head whipping his neck back and into the wall behind him. He cries out in pain but even that is just a distant thought of mine. All I can think is dead, Lior killed another one. Only this time he got off easy, this really is only a game. In a few days it won't be and the same hit with a real knife would be the end of the kid.

I laugh heartily and search for Revela in the room. She isn't difficult to find seeing as she is the only thing besides me still moving in this particular area. I prance over to her and notice that she isn't even holding her little dagger. The smile on my face only grows at her inexperience. How interesting it will be when the pack knows how she really is in battle. Maybe I can make this dull time in the Capitol a little more entertaining after all.

"We're allies, Lior!" She shrieks as I close in for the kill. I giggle at the thought, of course we're allies but that means so much less because we're Careers, or at least I am one. We're bred to only look out for our own victory. Killing her would be natural to any other member of our alliance if the time was right. Personally, I think this is the perfect time and place to teach little Revela this lesson.

"As you can see, that means absolutely nothing in real battle," I grin and tap the side of her head swiftly, causing the sensors on her head to blink furiously before becoming lit up consistently. Since she is already against a wall I barely notice if or when her suit becomes frozen. I turn back to exit the way I came and rejoin the action when I feel a harsh knock on my back. A shock courses through my body and I can't even find the strength to turn around.

"Leave my district partner alone, thank you," I hear a chilling voice hiss in my ear before Rosario comes into view ahead of me, flashing me a smile and then disappearing around the corner. Numbness washes over my body and I am pulled to the floor against my will. I try helplessly to get back on my feet but it's just like the short man told us would happen, I'm completely frozen. I huff disapprovingly, this is so not fun anymore.

* * *

**Kanyon West, 14, District Eleven**

The young girl from Three shrieks as the District Two Career shreds after her. I know there are only four of them left, because I've been sitting here for so long that I have had plenty of time to look around me. Thankfully I noticed the big numbers on the box hanging from the ceiling, a dulled blue light that just barely is visible. I know I was one of the first to be "killed", but I guess I'll see my official placement when this thing is over. Right now there are four of them left and the numbers are dropping fairly quickly in the small room.

I guess the other two that are left besides Two and Three are hiding, why else would a Career spend so much time on someone they could easily catch later? Finally I hear a loud chant of success and the number on screen dies down to three. If I were to put money on it I would say he had just caught Three, and sure enough Two rounds the corner to get back into my view. From across the room I can see Trace and Tate, but Rowan is nowhere to be seen. I try and get Tate, who is closest to me, to see me but his eyes are locked on the Career boy who sneers with distaste when his final two opponents refuse to make themselves known.

"Damn it," I hear someone mutter behind me but I can't even turn my head to see who it is. The number drops down to two. A body hits me hard from the back and I wince in pain, I want to know who it is that managed to get third but this stupid thing won't let me even move that much. Stupid Capitol designing these things. I try again to move some part of me but am unsurprised when I am met with no results. I hate just having to sit here while the rest of them duel it out around me. What am I supposed to do while I wait for this to be over? I try and lift my legs that are splayed out in from of me and again nothing happens. Urgh.

Finally the second of the last two tributes shows himself, coming out from behind me managing to scare me so bad I would have jumped a mile had my outfit allowed that much movement. Not surprisingly it's the Capitol boy, I guess there must have been some sort of reason for him to be in the alliance other than the fact that he is presumably the biggest tribute this year. He steps out and Two spots him immediately but he doesn't rush him like I'd half expected him to do. Instead they both kind of stare at each other.

Two looks satisfied enough that at least whoever ends up being the winner will be from his alliance because a smile takes over his face. "Oh it's only you, Capitol boy. I guess we're about to see your worth now aren't we?"

With that he breaks into a run after the Capitol tribute. He sees Two, though, and a fraction of a second after he too is off to a run. The Capitol boy needs only to run a few feet because while he jumps swiftly over my still, outstretched legs, Two isn't so lucky and he falls with a heavy thud. Capitol returns as soon as he sees what has happened, hitting Two lightly on the head with the tip of his weapon. Two's body ceases up and he becomes frozen just like he fell, face first in the ground with one foot still hooked around mine.

The Capitol boy comes into view from behind me, his face just inches from mine and a creepy smile plastered on his cheeks. He pats me on the shoulder and whispers quickly in my ear before disappearing from my view again."Thanks for the help, little buddy. You've been great."

* * *

**Blaise Allenby, 14, District Five**

The lights come on after a moment, along with an announcement from the same man that introduced this whole thing to us. "Well done, tributes. Trainers have been sent in to deactivate your uniforms. Once you have been released please follow the lights to the exit where your placements will be featured on the screen from earlier."

Sure enough, just as the man had promised, a small army of trainers enters through the four doors and each gets to work on the nearby tributes. One in particular moves in further and presses some numbers into the cuffs of Two's outfit. Two sighs with relief and lifts himself from the floor, rolling his shoulders dramatically as if he had been laying there for far longer than the couple of minutes it had been. Much to my disappointment, the trainer moves along to the District Four boy who is pinned to the floor a few feet from me and I am left still stuck by my suit. I huff in protest but of course he doesn't hear it and continues to move away from me.

"Do his next," I hear a strong male voice say over my head and to my relief a trainer bends down to press the code into my cuffs. Once released it takes me several moments before I can move my legs enough to stand, but I don't even have to put that much work into it because thick arms grab me by the wrists and yank me to my feet. I whirl around to face whoever had done it and come face to face with the District Two male. Whatever I had been about to say dies on my lips and I am left with nothing but a mouthful of air.

"Come on," he tells me and starts to walk away. Not knowing what else I'm supposed to do I follow him out to meet his alliance. I would not usually consider myself small, but I felt tiny standing beside the group of Careers and I don't think it was all due to height. They just seem so much bigger, even the girl from One who is no thicker than a twig, it must just be something that comes with the title.

"We've been talking about you," Two continues and I gulp. What the hell is that supposed to mean? Are they just trying to pull me aside to taunt me or tell me how low my chances are? Do they just want to have me meet my murderer before they wield the knife?

"We want you to join the Pack."

My head snaps to attention at the proposal. Did they just ask me to join them? Is this some kind of joke? I'm not strong or fit like they are; I'm not anything special. Why do they want me? This must be a joke, there's no other explanation for this. But one look around at their faces tells me that they are a hundred percent serious. Still I am compelled to ask. "Why me?"

"You're not here to talk unless we ask you a question, Five," Two's district partner sneers with a half-smirk on her face as if she is enjoying every moment of this. "Just understand your role here."

I nod feverishly and pull at the collar of my shirt. Is it hot in here or am I just overheating? After a few seconds I am unsure what to do with my hands or how to stand and I just look awkwardly at the floor until I notice two new pairs of feet joining the group. I peer up awkwardly and see it's the two tributes from the Capitol.

"Oh, Revela I'm glad you've joined us. But based on your performance in the exercise today and with the addition of the new member you suggested, I've decided that you're out."

I could have cut the proceeding tension with a knife if I'd had one. The Capitol tribute looks from me to the two District Two tributes with a look that is caught somewhere between shock and hatred. I gulp audibly but no one seems to notice. Revela huffs and storms away without the accompaniment of her district partner whose smile says that he has all but forgotten her by now.

* * *

**Nolan Sanders, 17, District Nine**

As soon as we are let out of the mock-arena and the trainers tell us that training has concluded for the day, I decide to head upstairs. Everyone else is still stuck in front of the screen with their alliances, comparing placements like school kids talking about a little race or some other child's game. I can't bring myself to even look at how anyone placed, it just makes me feel sick to even think about it. Feel like I'm the only person that really understands that in a few days it won't just be a game, and that in a couple weeks only one of them will be standing there to see the rest of our placements. The trainers won't be there then to release us from our frozen positions, we'll be _dead. _And I feel like I'm the only one that can't even stand to think of that little exercise as more than a game.

I'm the first one to reach the elevator, which isn't surprising, and I press the button to wait for the elevator. I consider calling over to Verlynna to see if she wants to come up with me but one glance in her direction shows that she is far too busy with her alliance to care about leaving so soon. I enter through the doors by myself and click in my floor. Within seconds the little box above the doors dings and shows my floor number.

I step out into the suite and see Linett and our Escort sitting at the table with cups of steaming liquid between them. They both look surprised to see me and as soon as they come out of teh shock they are both rushing to greet me. The Escort lady is the first to meet me and she flings her arms around my neck in a dramatic hug that I try my best to shrug her off of me. "How was it? How did you do?"

"It was great, I did great," I say sarcastically and weasel out of her grip. Linett stands behind her with a childish grin and I stop for a second to throw her a half-hearted smile. I can't help that my young mentor pulls on my heart strings, she just seems so much younger than I think she must be. She is the youngest Victor so far and I remember watching her Games with Cleona, that was during the year that everything got screwed up for the two of us. I remember her crying into my chest as we watched a thirteen year old Linett cower behind her last living ally. I remember her salty tears staining my shirt when she told me how much she wished hers would be like the tribute that gave up his life for Linett.

I don't bring up anything related to the Games around Linett, it seems like the only thing that truly fazes her at this point. The rest of the time she is happy enough to be led around by the hand with anyone older than her, and who am I to ruin her happy place. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined her life in such a futile attempt to save mine.

I retreat to my room and I hear Verlynna come up through the elevators. I consider stopping to ask her about her allies or about anything really, but I can't find the mind to. Instead I slip into my room and lock the door behind me, pulling my little token out of my pocket as I walk over to my bed. I hold the tiny shoe to my cheek and let the tears flow now that I'm alone. This, this is why I have to fight my hardest to get back. This is the reason right here.

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** Simple Plan.**_

**Song: **_**Holding On**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Blog has been updated with alliances as well as Kill-Zone placements.**

* * *

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Which of these twelve stood out to you the most?**_

_**Which tributes out of all twenty-four are your early favourites? **_

**I absolutely adore writing the Kill-Zone, to this day it is my favourite part of the Capitol that I have ever done. I wish to patent and create this because it is lovely and you can't die using it. If anyone wants to make me one of these I would love you forever, just ship it to Canada thanks. **

**Y****eah, whoops. I didn't mean for this to take so long but the Kill-Zone takes a lot of planning because, like the Bloodbath, all the tributes are present in a relatively small space. Not a great excuse but I'll stick by it. Also, with school starting up on Tuesday I have no idea when I will update next, could be sooner but more than likely it will be about the same wait period. Sorry. **


	6. Watch Me

**Me Against the World by Simple Plan**

_I've got no place to go  
I've got no where to run  
They love to watch me fall._

* * *

**Aetius Livita, 21, Assistant Gamemaker**

"The President can see you now, Sir," a woman with half-closed eyelids and eyeliner at least two shades of blue lighter than the season calls for tells me from around a corner. She looks bored to say the least and I can't pretend I don't wish for the same feeling. As the newest Gamemaker recruit, I am completely at the mercy of whatever ridiculous schedule Head Gamemaker Jayson can whip up for me. For the most part this has meant menial tasks like checking on the mutts in underground design labs or running cold medicine over to the boss' daughter. Today when my relay told me I was to meet him at his house by six this evening, I had the almost instinctive feeling that this would be something more... interesting.

I was right, of course.

So here I am walking towards President Cyrus' study as if I actually have been here before or have met the man in more than just passing or during training examinations. Tucked under my arm is a folder thick with a profile on each of the twenty-four tributes up to this afternoon when they had their private sessions with the older Gamemakers. Needless to say I was not included in those with that golden invitation, which for now suits me just fine. I would not have been allowed an opinion even if I were seated beside the boss himself. That's just how the hierarchy works.

"Yes, um, Mr Livita, I've been expecting you," a detached voice tells me mechanically. It takes me a moment to realize that the sound had come from a spun around office chair in the far corner of the room, but my feet learn where to go and I allow the rest of my body to follow them. I spot a sturdy wooden chair placed in front of his desk and proceed to take a seat until the same detached voice stops me. "Did I instruct you to take a seat? One tip for you, son, always wait for directions."

My voice fails me and I just nod sheepishly as I hurry back to my feet. He chuckles to himself at my response and I can feel my cheeks burning up by the second. I really should have asked more questions about how to act, how stupid for me to just come here and expect him to just listen to me without question. I am so obviously not a real Gamemaker yet, he can probably smell the inexperience.

"I asked Gamemaker Jayson to join me this evening but he was too caught up in his other affairs. I can only imagine the preparations two days before his first Hunger Games. So much pressure, am I right?"

I gulp thickly and nod again, not trusting my own tongue not to betray my stupidity again. He beckons me forward with the wave of his hand and I place the folder facing him on his desk. He nods for me to sit and my legs buckle underneath me before the command has even reached my brain. A wash of nervousness rushes over me, though I am unable to pinpoint the reason for it seeing as none of my own work had been placed in the folder, hell I didn't even know what was in there. I was just told to guard it with my life because it held the tributes' training scores that would not be publically released until later tonight. That kind of information getting out before its scheduled air time, I can't even imagine.

"Sir, I have the mi-"

The President signs off his relay before I can even understand where the official sounding voice has come from. He casts me a suspicious glance and I look away immediately. I'm not sure what I have just almost overheard, but I have a feeling I wasn't meant to. He's probably worried I'll press him for details, but he doesn't have to worry about that in the least bit. One of the very first lessons you learn working this close to the President and his eyes is not to ask questions, those who do always seem to go missing or turn up dead.

"The scores are unsurprising, but for a few," he says slowly, flipping through the folders half heartedly. I nod even though he isn't even looking at me, somehow I just feel the need to agree with him. Just the mere appearance of the old and greying man shocks me to the very core, though I'm not even sure what could be so potently terrifying.

He clears his through loudly and when I look back up to him I see impatience in his eyes. He must have asked me something. My cheeks heat up again and I respond with a 'yes, sir'. He rolls his eyes, "I asked you what your thoughts were on the Career tributes."

"Yes, of course," I say lamely. "I think they were chosen well by the districts, but their choices for the two extra members were somewhat surprising I would have to say. According to the cameras in the Training Center that I have monitored, Trojan Trinity is to be their leader. Whereas Talus Vixent and Lior Montserrat seem to be close second to his abilities."

"Yes, I do believe you are right, but what about these four?" He asks me, sliding four tribute profiles my way. I see that he has picked out the Insi Barnett, Daire Ellis, Nolan Sanders, and Revela Iva. I try and spot a mistake on any of their forms, or any kind of connection between the four. None of them are in alliances together as far as I am informed, and they have nothing in common more than being from non-Career districts.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you are implying, sir," I say thickly, watching the President closely for any kind of reaction to my probably ignorance.

"Each of these tributes have obtained a score close to Career standards," he explains and as soon as he points it out I see the big, red numbers sticking out on the pages and mentally slap myself for not figuring that out sooner. Three 8's and a 7, right there in plain view. "It says here that all of them save for the Capitol girl displayed some form of hesitation before their session. Both Insi Barnett and Nolan Sanders stared the Gamemakers square in the eyes for a full minute before beginning. Daire Ellis showed outright refusal to perform for nearly two minutes before complying."

"And Revela Iva?" I squeak. It is news to me that some of the highest scoring tributes from outer districts had shown signs of rebelliousness. Usually that is reprimanded and their score should show that. Are the other Gamemakers simply becoming less harsh on the tributes, or were their abilities truly this amazing? Should the President have reason to point them out to me, would he not be more inclined to question a senior Gamemaker who may be able to change something about the scorings?

"It says here that she showed the possibility to harbour great anger, which, while entertaining, could possibly be dangerous after a while," he tells me. He jots down a quick note on a little piece of paper and attaches it to the inside of the folder. "Give this to my Head Gamemaker, I am sure he will be interesting in seeing my thoughts, or bless his soul."

* * *

**Juana Drusus, 14 , Capitol Citizen**

"Shut up, it's on!" Aino screeches, flailing her hands out to smack an unsuspecting Enrich on the shoulder. He flinches and whirls around to face her, Saygan smiling up at the tense pair with sly eyes. Aino sticks her tongue out as an answer to Enrich's eye rolling before they both turn back to the large television that takes up much of the far wall of my living room. We've been meeting here during the training scores broadcastings since we all started school back in pre-k, and it's pretty much the same show every year. Aino, Brett, and I get really into commenting on the scores and revealing the hunks and hotties of the year. We've always taken over most of the conversation, but the other three comment from time to time. Enrich and Gunvor especially when something or some_one _peaks their interest.

"I bet Nolan will get the highest score, he _has _to!" I interrupt as the announcer begins with the usual spiel about how the tributes have worked so hard and the Games begin in just a few days, but we're all old enough to have heard the speech a million times before. I'd much rather talk about the Capitol's newest silent boy. He's all the rage everywhere, and I just know that he'll be the next Victor, I mean, there's no one else who has a better story than him, not to mention the obvious perks of a hot Victor.

"No way, he isn't even in the Careers!" Aino chides, slapping me playfully on the arm as the announcer begins to tell us more about how the scores are given and what they mean. "I think Estee is hiding something, she'll probably pull out for highest score."

Enrich snorts at this statement and Aino shoots him a dirty look. "Is there something you wish to discuss, Enrich?"

"Estee is about as big around as my forearm and always has that ridiculous smile on her face, if anyone's going to get the highest score it will definitely be one of the _real _Careers."

"Hmph," Aino huffs dramatically. "We'll just see about that now won't we?"

"But of course," Enrich says with a smirk.

"Now, to begin with District One's Estee Garnier."

A squeal breaks out and everyone looks accusingly towards Aino before they turn their attention back to the screen eagerly to wait for the first score of the year. A pretty, black seven appears under her blonde smile and Enrich chuckles to himself. Aino pouts to herself but begins, as always when her favourite's score doesn't match up with her expectations.

"And also from District One, Talus Vixent with a score of nine."

Enrich and I both throw Aino a knowing look and burst out in giggles. Talus is definitely one of my favourites, his green tips make me want to scream every time I see him. Nolan is definitely still my favourite for Victor, but I don't think I would complain much if he won. Oh, it's just so difficult knowing that only one of them is coming out when there're so manyI wish could.

"Now beginning with District Two, Lior Montserrat scoring a strong ten."

Everyone exchanges a dumbfounded glance. Lior isn't much bigger around than Estee, but she's shown to be feisty in the feeds so I am unsurprised she surpassed the blonde. The fact that she scored a ten, though, is pretty surprising. I cannot believe that she did better than Talus! I will certainly have to watch her more closely from now on. It could have been just a fluke, but I'll save up some sponsor money just in case.

"And Trojan Trinity also with a score of ten."

Brett sneers at the scores, he has always had some sort of vendetta against the Career tributes though I am unsure the origin of the hatred. His parents probably lost some money on a few of them and set their impressionable son against them. I've met his parents on quite a few occasions, and if there's one thing they hate is losing money, that's why they hardly ever sponsor unless it's been presented to them as a done deal that said tribute will be the Victor.

"From District Three, Adira Cipher with a score of four and Trace Conduit one below with a three."

"Pathetic," Aino snorts and Saygan shoots her a hurt look.

"They're so young, though, cute even!" She squeals, Aino and I both rolling our eyes in sync. She's no older than the boy and yet she always seems to find the younger kids too adorable to pass up. Saygan always acts so caught up in the little sob stories and everything that I think she would have convinced her parents to sponsor the pair if they had been sponsors at all. I kind of pity her, getting all into their cute faces and tiny statures, but she's never cried at one of their early deaths so I guess she isn't that into them.

"Now for District Four, Cosette Davonport earning a steady six, and her partner Markus Ronaldo with a matching score."

Brett sighs and I now he's disappointed, Cosette is one of his major crushes and I know that he really wanted her to do better especially considering her district's late string of early deaths at the hands of One and Two. The fact that she is from Four, I think, makes her his number one right now.

"And playing for District Five, Insi Barnett with a score of eight and Blaise Allenby with a score of six."

"Well then" Gunvor says first but the expressions on everyone else's faces show that they are thinking the same thing. We all know of course that the Career tributes accepting Blaise Allenby into their alliance has been headlining news since a couple days ago, but seeing that he actually must have some kind of skill is surprising. I think everyone is just assuming that his place in the Careers is a fluke and will be changed within seconds of entering the arena.

"I've never seen District Five do this well, this is awesome!" Brett exclaims.

"They aren't even comparable to the Careers," Aino gripes.

"Better than Estee, though, right Aino?" Enrich winks and Aino shoots him daggers with her eyes.

"Representing District Six we have Leila Pierce with a score of three, and Daesel Winston two up with a score of five."

Aino snorts and Saygan shoots her a knowing glance, "see, Adira scored better than someone five years older. She can't be completely doomed!"

"You just keep thinking that, sweetie," Enrich pats Saygan on the shoulder and the smaller girl crosses her arms at her chest and pouts. Sometimes I might feel bad for her, but really you just can't expect every kid to do well just because they have a cute face.

"Doesn't mean the Three kid isn't doomed, just means that Leila Pierce certainly is," Aino laughs.

"Now from District Seven, Ave Chassing scoring a six and Rowan Birbark scores to match his partner."

"Ave's pretty, right Brett," I tease him when I see the boy's eyes bulging nearly out of his head. He barely even registers that he's heard me until Enrich jabs him in the side with a well placed elbow. He turns and sticks his tongue out at each of us in turn. He can be so immature sometimes, but literally I think that's why we're such good friends.

"Why are these little kids getting such high scores, it's insulting to the real achievers," Aino groans.

"Hey, Rowan Birbark is the same age as you, Aino," Saygan lectures him. I guess she has a point, if we remember that we're just a year or two older than some of the tributes. I would be the first to argue that I wouldn't have been some snivelling idiot if I went in the Games two years ago. I would have messed up some tribute.

"District Eight's Lillith Tavern with a score of five and Darire Ellis with a strong seven."

"Now she's pretty," Gunvor sighs and everyone breaks out in giggles. Sometimes I think that Gunvor might have more on his mind in the way of sex than he lets out. Everyone knows about Brett's little obsessions, but Gunvor might be the dirtier mind of the two. Nobody knows, Gunvor barely speaks to any of us except when we gather to watch the Games each year.

"From District Nine, Verlynna Feddarys with a four and Nolan Sanders with an impressive score of eight."

I can't help the squeal that escapes out of my mouth and before long I am full out fangirling. I just knew that Nolan would prove himself! Maybe it wasn't the highest score of the night, but from his district an eight is beyond amazing! Enrich is the only one that shares my extreme obsession with him and when I glance over to him he winks at me seductively and moves his hands in a sexual gesture before breaking out in a fit of giggles. I follow suit and we're both all but rolling on the floor within seconds. Everyone else looks on with judgemental stares, except Saygan who suppresses a laugh with a tiny grin.

"Now for District Ten, Vivian Mayhall with a score of five and Tate Raveling with a score of one."

"Oh the poor thing!" Saygan squeaks, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. I think all of us know her soft spot for the deaf-mute kid, but even I'm a bit disheartened to see his fate basically sealed. A one is the worst score anyone has ever earned, and it is reserved for the truly worthless. Not even Aino has the heart to make a joke about the hopeless little kid. I think that no matter how heartless she seems, Aino doesn't really like seeing the little kids die. She probably just knows the reality that they're not getting far better than the rest of us do.

"I can't believe it! A one, how cruel of the Gamemakers! He could not have possibly been that horrible, he has a disability after all, that should earn him something, no?" Saygan whines to herself and I can see the tears welling in her wide eyes. Enrich shares a sympathetic look and comfortingly pats her hair down.

"And District Eleven's Iora Winsil scoring a four, her district partner Kanyon West scoring one below with a three."

No one's really surprised, either that or they are still enveloped in the haunting memory of Tate Raveling's pathetic showing. Saygan no longer looks like she is about to cry but she still sinks a bit lower in the sofa as yet another one of her piteous hopes falls short. Some sponsors are optimistic in that they see scores as nothing that should affect their gut feelings, but every accomplished sponsor knows that tributes that look worthless and get a worthless score are nothing but walking gravesites. That's just the way it is, sorry not sorry.

"Finally, our Capitol tributes. We have Revela Iva with a score of eight and Rosario Saturn with a score of seven."

"He better get kicked out of the Career Pack for that," Aino complains. "I knew they should have kept Revela over him."

"There was probably some sort of mistake," I hurry to make an excuse. Next to Nolan Sanders, Rosario Saturn is definitely my favourite to win this year. If either of those two win, I'll be more than happy. But if Rosario only scored a seven, that could mean his position in the Career Pack is in jeopardy. I won't say that he needs to be in to win, but his chances go up exponentially if he remains there.

"That is all for tonight, and don't forget to tune in tomorrow night for the tribute's interviews with Vindan Fauxtus. Until then, may the odds be ever in your favour and good night."

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** Simple Plan.**_

**Song: **_**Me Against the World**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile. Scores have been updated. **

* * *

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**This is something I don't normally do, what did you think of the approach?**_

_**Did any of the scores surprise you?**_

* * *

**I am really sorry about this, er, change of pace. The Capitol chapters for me are some of the most tedious, repetitive things I ever write and, even though I know I should be developing the characters further, I just couldn't do it. I am already taking a very intensive creative writing course that I have really amazing opportunities in should I do well. So, I really don't want anything I will fret over, like I was before. Yeah, sorry to disappoint. Also, if I have a long pause between updates it is likely because of the several assignments I have been getting that take literally all night to finish. **

**I will be posting one more chapter like this with a few chosen POVs from various third parties to cover the Interviews and Launch and some other stuff as well. I really hope none of you hate me for kind of giving up on the tributes for two weeks. I will obviously be doing the Bloodbath on from the tributes' perspectives but for now, sorry this is what I have come up with. **

**I really don't feel like this is my best work, but it was rushed what can I say. Juana's POV was mainly just to give a different kind of perspective on how some Capitolites might view the Hunger Games, and I hope no one is offended if their tribute was kind of made fun of. I had fun writing it, so. Yeah.**


	7. Waiting

**Running Out of Time by Simple Plan**

_You've been waiting way too long  
Now it's time for us to pay._

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**Gunvor Hule, 15, Capitol Citizen **

"Shush! Guys it's back on, it's back on!" I blurt out and everyone falls silent. Beside me, Saygan stifles a giggle and I throw a confused glance over my shoulder. She's always laughing about something, but it's a joke between the two of us that I never speak up until I need something from the others. Might make it sound like I'm using them, but on the contrary they use me. Who has inside information about every tribute every year, willing to share it to be included in this seemingly elite group. The rumors that they all hear about are true, everyone wants in on our little parties, but it's hard to last. They'll be after you like piranhas if they sense something's up. Just look at Calyx or Saria if you need an example of this.

Everyone listens, though, to my exclamation because they don't happen often and I am usually right. The interviews are probably the most important event of the year leading up to the start of the Hunger Games. All of the other events are just a bunch of meatheads talking about what the tributes have supposedly done or what they expect them to do. Interview night is the first real look you get at what a tribute is doing, not just a bunch of lousy predictions.

Vindan Fauxtus is the Host again this year and I can't help but groan when I see his pumpkin-colored hair on screen again. It's not that he's getting old, but it would be nice to see a Host that doesn't need a hip transplant between tributes, if you know what I'm getting at. The only thing I can be thankful for in seeing him is that at least it's going to be a decent show. Over the years he has gotten more comfortable or perhaps even bored in his position, not exactly mean to the tributes, but witty most certainly.

"Welcome citizens of Panem to Interview night! It is with the utmost pride and confidence I present to you this year's tributes!" Vindan begins, the image of his moving lips giving way to a quick montage of the tributes' headshots. When he returns to the screen, the audience before him is in an uproar, impossibly eager to get things started. I don't blame them; I would hate to be sitting there in my best clothes for hours on end instead of here on a comfortable couch with enough food to feed a rebel army. Who wouldn't be impatient to get started?

As is custom, the interviews begin with District One and will continue to end with the Capitol tributes. Personally I find it appalling that the Capitol is last when clearly our tributes should be first, if not then not even included in the Games. Shouldn't the President want to continue the Hunger Games as they were in the before? Capitol tributes shouldn't even be part of this equation. It's just plain wrong.

Aino squeals with delight when Estee Garnier sits impossibly close to Vindan and answers his questions with ditzy-sounding statements that are sometimes relevant, but oftentimes not. Most of the rest of us just roll our eyes at Aino's obvious envy of the District One tribute because it's gotten normal for her. It's like she has a constant string of obsessions with blonde, stupid Career girls.

Talus Vixent surprises me with his friendly, harmless kid act. Even Saygan who is apt to accept anything and everything said by the tributes on Interview night at face value leans in to ask me if he's joking or not. I shake my head in answer and she shrinks back into the couch beside me with wide eyes locked on the shimmering screen. Another unexpected revelation is that his hair seems to be even more prominent than before. Normally stylists will undo any of the pathetic dye-jobs that some of the richer districts will attempt, but I guess his green locks have become kind of a trademark of his. Or it's possible he just outright refused to be rid of the color, which I think would make me like him better.

Lior Montserrat is exactly the personality that the black market informers have painted her as being. She responds with guffaws of laughter to the shallower of Vindan's questions and simply weaves her way around the more personal ones. By the end of it, none of us have anything much to say about her, except for Brett who pumps his hands by his sides in a rude gesture that makes everyone giggle like school children.

Trojan Trinity doesn't surprise anyone, really. I think he should definitely have calmed down a little bit because his nerves were on show for the entire freaking nation. Every word he said seemed to be passed through a filter before leaving his lips and he doesn't say anything wrong, nor anything particularly memorable. I'm disappointed that he is supposed to be the Career Pack leader when he is so plain. I don't want Juana or Enrich to get wind of my disappointment in the Careers, I would never hear the end of it. Both of them seem to have some kind of vendetta against them, opting for tributes like Nolan Sanders when I honestly cannot stand the guy. He just seems to be too much of the perfect sob story, from what I have been able to dig up about his history. Someone like that winning isn't great for dad's business, he counts on everything being painstakingly predictable and Nolan Sanders could mess that up a whole lot. Him and those other ridiculous outer district children turned "threats".

Saygan squeals when Adira Cipher and Trace Conduit mount the stage one after the other. I don't count either of them in as probable or even possible Victors, but I smile as she beams up at the screen. None of us really like to shatter her hopes except maybe Aino, and even though my mind might be harsh and critical, I can't help but feel sympathy towards Saygan. I guess no one can blame her for hoping that some of the tributes closest to her age might pull ahead, especially with the threat of one of us or even her going in within the next few years. A shudder runs along my spine, I can't imagine her in the Hunger Games, my father betting on my best friend's death. She's so tiny. I guess that's what Saygan sees in Adira and Trace.

Both of them play the cute card, but the boy seems very distracted the entire time on stage. I can't really tell where his head is at because his eyes just wander every which way and I can't keep myself from following them. The girl just grins widely and answers the questions with a high pitched voice and girlish giggles.

I give her a day tops in the arena, probably less.

Cosette Davonport is surprisingly happy, but I don't see a reason for her to be. Like her district partner Markus she only scored a six and from what I have heard about her situation back in District Four she didn't have much to be smiling about. She is very impersonal and ends up just coming off as blindly happy, not great for her sponsoring and, like my dad, I number her days mentally.

Markus Ronaldo surprises me a bit, based on information from his district he used to be quite the socialite and even at the Reaping some of his admirers called out how he would destroy the arena and such. He didn't look like anything special then, even with the praise behind him. Just another meek kid and I couldn't help but just assume that, like Enrich and even Saygan, he is just nice and easily liked. On the stage he is calm and cool headed. Even when he was asked about the Reaping and his average scoring, he played everything off with a half-laugh. At least he knows how to work the crowds, that doesn't say much to his abilities in the arena, though, after all he only got a six.

Insi Barnett is, even with my aptitude for this kind of calculation, unreadable. Her district partner tries to go for an angle of intelligence, but only comes off as extremely awkward. The two of them are basically unimpressive, though I am slightly intrigued with Insi. Blaise Allenby must have something interesting about him, though, to have gotten into the Career Pack.

Leila Pierce can only be described as a hot mess. She looks stunning with her hair down and curled and sporting a short, angel-white dress, but the smile plastered like glue on her face ruins the whole thing. Every answer to every question is forced and overly excited, especially seeing as the look says anything but what her mouth does. She claims she is glad to be there, but frankly I'm just glad when she gets off stage. Even Brett, who is the pretty girl's biggest fan, seems less than impressed with her performance.

Her district partner doesn't even manage to stay on stage for the whole of his interview. By halfway you could see him viably shaking and a minute after that he just ran off. No points for being dramatic, sorry Daesel, doesn't look like District Six will be getting a Victor out of you if you can't even make it through an interview with Vindan.

District Seven is a notable improvement over the last two districts. Ave Chassing looks stunning in a teal mini-dress that shows more leg than fabric, and she works with that angle too. Her voice is wispy and gentle, like she is trying to massage you with her words and it's working. She is very vague with most things, but I don't even care by the end of the whole thing. Enrich, Brett and I's jaws all hang open by the end of it. Her district partner is nothing compared to Ave, but he's not nearly as terrible as some of the others. He actually seems comfortable onstage unlike so many others, and you can just tell that all of his answers are genuine. I don't know if he'll be the one to favourite for Victor, but he's definitely one that I would like to meet. I think we'd get along, especially if he brought Ave Chassing along.

Lillith Tavern comes on stage and my jaw drops even further. Maybe I was wrong about the peasant district tributes, if all of them look like this once the dirt has been cleaned from their face maybe I should visit. Unlike Ave who was vague and alluring, Lillith actually seems like she has all of this figured out somehow. She isn't vague on any of the details of her life, instead adding more and more until Vindan has to stop her and move on to the next question. I already have learned so much about her from my Father, but by the looks on the faces of my company, they had no idea about her family business.

The bell rings to take Lillith off stage and her district partner, Daire Ellis, takes her place beside Vindan. He seems very on edge and sits at the very furthest position from the interviewer. A few easy questions in and his silence has not been broken and if it's even possible he looks more nervous. Quite a few times he opens his mouth as if to answer and then slams his jaw shut. Once Vindan gives him a little pep talk about how his family will want to hear him talk to them one more time before he leaves, he gives in and babbles like a freed canary. It's like he has been replaced by a more confident version of himself and by the end of his interview I find myself actually enjoying his time. I scan around me and see that almost everyone had lost interest in him back when he was too nervous to speak, even Saygan who loves this type of thing is curling her hair around her finger lamely.

District Nine is another let down. Verlynna Feddarys is far too nervous, ending every other sentence with a long bout of nervous laughter and stumbling over her own tongue. About halfway through I find my mind wandering, trying to remember what I can about her but even then I come up blank. My face contorts as I try to come up with something. My memory is supposedly one of the best in my school, but even I can't remember much about the girl. I guess she just blends in with the rest who actually have an interesting story to them.

Even though Nolan Sanders is a clear cut favourite to win along with several of the Careers, his interview was less than desirable and likely sent a few of his sponsors packing. If my Father had been voting on him I would sure tell him to find a new tribute. It is very obvious that this guy is unable to control himself. He came out on stage with a passive scowl on his face and left with tears in his eyes and fists clenched like he might hit someone. Not interesting enough to make him memorable, I guess maybe he should have hit someone.

Vivian Mayhall from District Ten does alright, she holds a very calm demeanour and lays out her strategy clearly. I'm not a huge fan seeing as she is on the younger side, but I think she has the potential to do okay. Everything about her is exactly perfect, which made her actually pretty boring to watch if I'm being honest. Might just be because it's getting late, almost midnight by now and beside me Saygan and Enrich yawn quietly. By the end of Vivian's interview, Saygan and Enrich have fallen asleep on each other's shoulders and Juana snickers when she sees them.

"Guess the younger ones can't handle a late night, aye?" She winks at Brett and I who have to cover our mouths to keep from waking them.

Tate Raveling is one of the interviews I have been curious to see since he was Reaped. Word is that he is deaf and mute, so I think anyone would be interested in seeing how they will accommodate for that. He gets on stage with a cute nervous vibe around him and I see how it's going to work. On his wrist is a long dial pad with letters and a speaker, they're going to get him to type out his answers. Vindan holds up small cards for the boy to read and Tate types in his answers, the words coming out in a mechanical voice that sounds like an elderly man. Saygan and Enrich are awakened with small squeaks of surprise when Tate slams his entire hand onto the dial, causing it to screech out in protest. I don't remember hearing what upset him so much, something about his disorder I am going to guess, but he soon leaves the stage with angry tears spilling out onto his cheeks and that ends his interview.

District Eleven is very much a letdown, actually no I'm lying you have to have expectations for it to be a letdown. The girl, Iora Winsil is very quiet and answers in short, concise answers. Usually this will work with more intimidating tributes but her routine wincing and holding one hand to her face doesn't give off that vibe at all. Her district partner, Kanyon West, is nothing special. Rather cute I'm sure Saygan would say and maybe his playful and funny answers will get him a few sponsors but not likely.

Revela Iva, the female Capitol tribute, is just as beautiful if not more so than I remember from the Reapings. Of course I was in attendance that day, barely holding a worry for myself because of my family standing. She is definitely striking, but compared to a few others she is but a daisy in a field of white roses. The pure look of her pink and yellow dress is contrasted by the nasty comments coming out of her mouth. She takes every opportunity she gets to slander the Career Pack, calling them useless and just the best of the worst. When she isn't doing that she is boosting up her own strengths, not enough to be annoying but enough that her point comes across clearly. She is out for blood and I would hate to see someone try and get in her way. Actually that's a lie, I would love to see that.

When she is done. Rosario Saturn takes the stage and across the room Juana and Brett squeal in excitement. I roll my eyes but a smile comes to my lips, at least this obsession of theirs is appropriate, unlike the one for Nolan Sanders. This boy has a good chance as he is strong and comes from the wealthiest array of sponsors. Most say they are unbiased towards where a tribute comes from, but it's clear in the gifts sent that they would prefer a local win. Rosario captures the audience's and my attention as he scans the crowds and speaks in slow, specific phrases. I find it pretty creepy that he can smile and light up even when talking about his possible death, but maybe his mentor just trained him well. I do remember Coryn DuPont as being quite the interview artist last year.

The interviews end and I giggle to see that Saygan has fallen asleep again on Enrich's shoulder. Juana and Aino are already arguing about who has the best chances based on their performances and instead of butting in I listen to their little comments. All of them are biased and look obsessed, but they are interested to hear. It's nice to get an outside opinion on what kinds of tributes are liked, after all I plan on being in charge of the Games someday. I may as well begin to do my research now.

* * *

**Follee Priscus, 26, Head Stylist**

They are beautiful, a true work of art pencilled by my wise hands. Finally, not a year of blueprinted designs relayed to me but merely a theme with which to test my skills. This is the true calling of someone of the status of Head Stylist, not just corralling those under me and ensuring that tributes' measurements and photographs are taken correctly. A task worthy of my talent has finally surfaced, and I have not disappointed. My work is flawless at worst.

And each one is different. For the first time that I can remember I was able to match colors and fabrics to skin tones and eye shades. A fashion line created solely for the tributes of the Hunger Games, soon to go fully viral after their reveal. I will be famous, I can see it now.

My feet are resting comfortably on my desk, a plethora of twenty-four screens spread along the wall before me. Most of the tributes have already dressed, all except Tate Raveling who seems to be struggling to get into the grey jeans that go perfectly with his wide eyes and light skin. I smile widely as I eye up my handiwork with a praising glance. I have never seen such fabulous uniforms in all my years of watching the Hunger Games, how glad the tributes must be feeling to have outfits so beautiful and tailored to them. No dreary camouflage or spandex unitards, this year instead they are outfitted in what I can only describe to be fall chic.

I gaze over the screens, cursing under my breath when I notice that Adira Cipher's white collar is sticking up on one side. I press the button labelled 3A to dial her Launch room number and when Jive Hayon picks up I correct him quickly and he rushes over to the tribute's side to fix it. Normally I would hardly care if a tribute went out at Launch with his shoes on the wrong feet but this year each and every detail matters greatly. The whole nation will see them and love them all thanks to me, they will become known as the best dressed lot since the reinstating of the Hunger Games, probably in even longer.

I click the little button on the side of my desk to say that all tributes are approved for launching. It will only be a few minutes now, just enough time for the tributes to be evaluated by the other Heads and approved. After a few moments I get bored of looking around my desk and boring looking temporary office and decide to zoom in on some of the tributes to get some guesses going about who I think will be the first to go, or the last to go for that matter. As a member of the core crew I am not allowed to officially bet on tributes' chances, but that doesn't stop my fun. Not at all. It just means I have nothing to lose by betting in my mind.

I hit a random key on my board and zoom into a very large version of Daire Ellis' Launch room. His stylist is nowhere to be seem, which isn't that strange as many tributes will ask to be left alone before Launch for whatever reason. A thick bowl of orange soup lays untouched in front of him and his hands cradle his head. Deep breaths fluctuate under his brown jacket specially chosen to soften the hard lines of his face and hairline. An extra layer beneath the brown brings some edge to his look with a grey and black button up cardigan and grey dress pants finish off the outfit nicely. He doesn't really do much, and oddly enough he doesn't seem as thrilled with the uniform prepared for him as I would have thought. In fact, every time he looks toward it his eyes flutter closed. He doesn't look happy at all.

I quickly hit another button on the board when I find myself in some kind of a trance from staring at the boy. It's not like I can do anything if he is unhappy, it's his loss. I smile when I find myself staring into an enlarged version of Estee Garnier's launch room. Hers was one of my favourite and the easiest uniform to put together; thick black leggings under shiny boots with a burgundy jumper and a bright orange jacket. By far the most colorful, but her eyes and hair demand such. A beautiful girl, I remember that much.

When I look closer at the screen it's as if I am looking at a completely different girl. I remember Miss Garnier from the interviews and the Reapings as being one of the most upbeat of the lot, with a smile a mile wide and a bubbly aura about her. A frail looking girl shakes in the arms of her stylist, embracing him in a tight hug and crying into his shoulder like a tiny child about to get a needle. The orange jacket looks far too big on her shaking arms and I am not even able to see her face amidst the fabric of her stylist's suit. His chin rests limply on her blonde head and he lets out slow, calming breaths of words that I cannot hear but for some reason wish to.

I flick to the next screen quickly, my breaths coming in quick bursts. Oh no, now why am I getting upset? I have done everything I can do for these kids; it's not my fault they are in this situation! I can do nothing to stop them and that is just the way it is. I bring my hands to my face and notice that my fingertips are quivering. I slam them down on my desk with one hand on top of the other. I have no reason to be upset, calm down Follee, calm down.

I tilt my head up and see that my screen is now focused in on Markus Ronaldo from District Four. I am relieved to see that he is not crying nor forcing away his stylist. See, they aren't all miserable, there has to be some reason for them to be happy in there, there just has to be. He stands at one side of the room and mumbles words to himself, probably some sort of pep talk. Then, to my dismay he looks to his stylist and points to the door. The pixie-like woman I remember as Lillian Drevoe looks viably shaken at his demand but slinks out the door like a wounded animal.

Markus scans himself in the mirror and then does something that I would never have expected, he begins to undress. He removes his beige trench coat and rips off the silver tie, causing his collar to go astray. The red, v-neck sweater underneath gets its sleeves carelessly rolled up and Markus rips off the leather wristwatch that every tribute wears identically to him.

Not knowing what else to do I grab my phone and dial in to the speaker in his room. "Markus Ronaldo, please replace your wristwatch it is mandatory for all tributes."

Markus looks up to where the speaker in his room is, unknowingly also seeming to look directly into my office. He picks up the discarded watch and shoves it into his pocket, before lifting his hand in a crude gesture and kicking the new jacket across the room. I am about to redial his room when he crouches down to sit on the floor and buries his face in his hands. I do not have access to the microphones in his room so I am unable to know exactly what he is saying, but by the way his lips move I guess it to be something like "how is this fair?"

I swallow thickly and replace the phone in its hookup, unable to even remember what I had been about to say. I leave him be and simply watch him, though he does no more damage. When the loudspeaker calls him into the Launch tube, his stylist returns and stands solemnly beside the door to ensure that he is following orders.

I return my screen to full twenty-four tribute view and watch all of the children shuffle into their tubes, some confidently and some still with red-stained faces from the tears. Automatically, my screen changes to give me a clear view of all twenty-four tubes and I find myself scanning their young faces instead of doing my last check over. Lior Montserrat looks bored and scans the tube from top to bottom, squinting her eyes to try and look at what is above her. Blaise Allenby and Rowan Birbark house similar looks of feigned confidence, though their bottom lips quiver. Estee Garnier and Leila Pierce cry openly. Lillith Tavern fixes the cuffs of her sleeves with a calm, blank look on her pretty face and Verlynna Feddarys stares upwards, biting her bottom lip with tears welling in her eyes.

Then, they rise and my heart rises with them.

* * *

**The artist theme for this story will be**_** Simple Plan.**_

**Song: **_**Me Against the World**_

* * *

**The blog for this story can be found on my profile.**

* * *

**From now on, a question or two will be asked at the end of each chapter which I would love for you to answer, and I also ask for a general review on my writing as well, if you would be so kind.**

_**Who do you think will die in the Bloodbath chapter and who do you want to die?**_

_**Any final guesses on the arena?**_

* * *

**I have created a poll where you can vote on who you want to survive the Bloodbath.**

**Next chapter the chaos of the Games will begin and so will the first person POVs. Again I am really sorry about the change of style but I kind of liked it, and it will give the tributes more of a chance to be developed in the arena with their histories and secrets and such. Hopefully I can be a better updater now that the Games have begun.**


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